The Greatest of These
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: In October 1981, Jack doesn't return from his mission in North Korea.
1. Chapter 1a

Pairings: Jack/Irina, Irina/Cuvee, Sloane/Emily  
Disclaimer: The characters you recognize do not belong to me. Everyone else is mine.  
Summary: In October 1981, Jack doesn't return from his mission in North Korea . . .  
A/N: The gorgeous dustjacket was made by natushka. Thank you!  
Warnings: Character death, torture, violence, sex scenes. (Sounds likes a fun story, doesn't it?)

* * *

_What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from._ – T.S. Eliot

* * *

A crash of thunder jolted Irina out of her reverie, and she realized she'd been staring at the same essay for ten minutes without actually reading the words. She took a sip of her now-cold tea and grimaced, then put the paper down and stood. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she let the frequent flashes of lightning illuminate her path to the kitchen. It was going to be a long night, and she needed something stronger than tea if she wanted to stay awake long enough to finish grading the papers.

And there was no question in her mind that they had to be finished tonight.

While she waited for the kettle to boil, she mentally compiled a list of all she needed to do before Jack's return tomorrow. She would order pizza for dinner (Jack's assignment was in North Korea; no doubt he'd want American food when he got back) and she could pick it up on the way back from the University. It had become tradition that she never cooked on Jack's first night home, and the three Bristows would eat takeout in front of the TV.

She also needed to confirm her TA could take her classes for the following day – she'd spent the last two weeks thinking of ways to welcome Jack home and intended to keep him in bed until Sydney got back from school. She thought about the scarves and candles she'd bought the day before, and smiled in anticipation.

The whistle of the kettle alerted her that the water was ready. She quickly made herself a cup of coffee and returned to the study.

_Groceries, laundry, buy some more ice cream . . ._

The phone was ringing. Glancing at her wristwatch, she frowned as she saw how late it was.

"Hello?"

"Laura? It's Arvin."

There was only one reason Arvin would phone at this time of night. Fear pierced through her, cold and sharp, and her fingers tightened around the receiver. _Jack_.

"Laura? Are you there?"

"Yes."

"Can I come over?"

If Jack had been injured, Arvin would tell her over the phone. If there'd been a small problem, or a delay, or anything as long as Jack would end up okay, Arvin would say it over the phone.

But he wanted to come over.

"Arvin, no—"

His tone was firm. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Irina didn't know how long she stood listening to the dial tone. She felt numb as she replaced the phone in its cradle and slowly made her way to the living room to wait for Arvin.

Sydney's half-finished drawing was still on the coffee table, proclaiming _Welcome Home Daddy_ in purple crayon. Everything Sydney drew these days was purple, which Irina had always preferred to the usual little girls' choice of pink.

She told herself she was over-reacting. Everything was fine. There was no reason to worry.

Except Jack was in North Korea and it was almost midnight and Arvin was on his way over to tell her something he couldn't say over the phone—

Light flooded the room as a car pulled into the driveway. Irina went to unlock the door, and watched Arvin run up to her. He stood in the rain and looked at her, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he shook his head.

"Laura, I don't know how to say this."

He didn't have to. She knew, had known since she picked up the phone. In a matter of minutes her life had come crumbling down around her, and it didn't once cross her mind that this was a life she'd never been supposed to have in the first place.

"When?" she asked.

"How much do you know already?"

"He led a team to North Korea." She realized she was leaning against the doorframe for support, but she couldn't let go, couldn't bring herself to do anything except look at Arvin and wait for him to tell her how her husband had died.

Arvin nodded. "He told me once that there were no secrets between you. I think he'd want you to know."

"Arvin."

"We heard the team had been captured and executed a few days ago."

A few days? Irina had been planning a reunion and Jack had already been dead. She sank to her knees and batted away Arvin's hands as he tried to help her up.

"I just got back from North Korea," Arvin continued. "The Agency sent me to bring back our men."

"I want to see him."

"No, you don't." Arvin knelt beside Irina, and this time she didn't push him away. "Laura – trust me. You don't."

"You don't get to tell me what I do or do not want to do!"

"He was tortured." Arvin's tone was gentle, but it didn't matter. News like that could never be delivered gently. "I'm sorry, Laura."

Tortured.

Irina knew exactly what the North Koreans were capable of. She'd spent two weeks there as part of her education. For all she knew, she'd trained with the people who'd killed Jack.

Something niggled at the back of her mind. Why hadn't her handlers informed her of Jack's death? Surely they knew before the CIA did.

"Someone from the Agency will be in touch tomorrow," Arvin was saying. "But I wanted to be the one to tell you. I –"

Irina knew that Arvin had to be in pain as well – he was Jack's best friend – but at the moment she was too numb to feel anything.

"Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to stay the night?"

She shook her head. "No, you can go. I need some time. I – This is surreal."

"If you need anything—"

"Thanks." Irina got to her feet. She said nothing else as Arvin returned to his car. Long after he'd driven off, she was still standing in the open doorway, watching the rain fall.

Jack was dead.

No matter how many times she repeated the words in her head, they still didn't make sense. Jack couldn't be dead. She needed him. Sydney needed him.

He wasn't allowed to be dead.

Even as she realized the futility of the thought, she felt the bile rise in her throat and rushed to the bathroom. Kneeling in front of the toilet, she retched until her stomach was empty. Then, her energy spent, she collapsed on the tile floor and sobbed.


	2. Chapter 1b

Irina sat in a chair next to Sydney's bed. She almost didn't want Sydney to wake up – her daughter was about to find out that fairytales didn't exist and there was no such thing as happily ever after.

Irina hugged her arms to her chest. She was still wearing the clothes she'd had on the night before – jeans and one of Jack's sweaters. She hadn't been able to sleep, and had spent the remainder of the night cleaning the kitchen in an attempt to keep her mind occupied. At around four a.m. the storm had passed, and she'd come upstairs to be near her daughter.

Sydney stirred, and Irina tensed.

"Morning, Mommy." Sydney sleepily rubbed her eyes as she sat up.

"Morning, sweetheart." The words were whispered.

"Daddy's coming back today." Sydney grinned.

She couldn't do this. "Oh, sweetheart."

Irina climbed onto the bed and pulled Sydney into her arms as she began to cry again.

"Mommy?"

"Baby, I'm so sorry."

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"There – There was an accident, baby. Daddy was hurt very badly."

"Is he in hospital? Can we go visit him?"

Irina held Sydney tighter. "No. Daddy's not in hospital. He's in heaven, with Grandpa and Grandma."

Sydney tried to pull free but Irina wouldn't let her.

"No, Mommy!"

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"No!" Sydney's fists beat at Irina's chest, punctuating her repeated cries of, "No! No!"

All Irina could do was hold her, and keep apologizing.

It could have been hours later – Irina wasn't sure – by the time Sydney stopped fighting her. Now she clung to Irina, her tiny body shaking with sobs.

"Why'd Daddy die?"

"I don't know, baby."

"What are we going to do without him?"

Irina didn't have the answer to that either. She rubbed Sydney's back, kissed her, and told her she loved her.

* * *

The phone was ringing again. The last thing Irina needed was to hear someone else tell her how sorry they were. She waited until the ringing stopped, then took it off the hook.

It had been three days, and Irina still felt as if Jack was going to walk through the door any minute and tell her there had been a mistake, that he was fine, and he was so, so sorry he'd made her worry.

Three days, and Sydney refused to leave her bed. Irina could understand; the only reason she was still functioning was for Sydney's sake.

She studied her reflection in the mirror; a red-eyed woman, clothed in black. And she remembered, suddenly, that she had never been supposed to love him. All he should have been to her was an assignment, a way to serve her country. Now, at last, she knew the truth. Now, when it was too late to do anything about it.

She loved him. Had loved him desperately and for a long time. Had loved him as Irina.

She finished applying her make up, and went to get Sydney ready for the funeral.

"I don't want to go," Sydney said and buried her head under the covers.

"Sweetheart, please." Irina didn't have the strength to argue.

"It's not fair."

"I know."

Sydney peeked out from under the duvet. "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want them to bury Daddy."

"Oh, baby." Irina held out her arms, and Sydney crawled onto her lap. "I wish more than anything I could bring Daddy back for you."

"Why do we have to go?"

"Because when somebody dies, this is how people say goodbye."

Sydney thought about that for a while, then slid off Irina's lap. "Okay."

Irina gently placed her palm against Sydney's cheek. "Okay. Let's get you dressed."

An hour later, they were sitting in the front row of a nearby church. Irina couldn't even remember the name of the church; Arvin had picked them up, and she was grateful no one expected her to do anything today.

She stared at the coffin, remembering Arvin's words that he'd been tortured. The casket was closed, and Irina felt a wave of anger that she couldn't even get to say a proper goodbye to her husband.

Sydney was sitting as close to Irina as physically possible, burrowing against her as if she wanted to disappear. Irina could relate to that as well. She was all too aware of the sympathetic looks from everyone else.

It wasn't too long ago that she'd been one of those 'someone elses'.

She turned her attention back to the priest, who stepped aside to let Arvin take the pulpit. He spoke about Jack's bravery, his loyalty, and his love for his wife and child.

Irina couldn't listen. She eased herself out of Sydney's embrace, handing her off to Emily, and practically ran out of the church.

There was a small garden on the church grounds; a couple of benches overlooking a small pond, and to one side a wall with plaques in different shades of bronze. A hand-painted sign set just off the path proclaimed this as the 'Garden of Remembrance'. Irina sat on one of the benches and tried to gain control of her emotions.

"You play the grieving widow quite well," a familiar voice cut into her thoughts.

Startled, she said nothing at first. The first emotion that was clear was anger, and she embraced it. "Where the hell have you been, Yuri? Why did the CIA have to tell me what had happened?"

The man smiled and sat down next to her. He lit a cigarette, then offered her one. She took it and allowed him to light it for her. The nicotine did nothing to calm her shattered nerves, but she continued smoking anyway.

"Jack wasn't supposed to get hurt," she said.

"Things change." Yuri looked at the pond, not at her. "Moscow decided he was no longer useful, and ordered his elimination."

Irina stared at the cigarette in her hand and watched the smoke curl upwards before disappearing in the breeze. "Elimination?"

"He must have suspected something," Yuri said. "The information you were passing along was nothing we couldn't get from any other agent."

"He didn't suspect anything."

Yuri shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You were scheduled for extraction anyway. This just makes things simpler."

Irina looked up in surprise. "I was? When would you have told me this?"

"When you needed to know."

Irina let the cigarette fall to the ground and stubbed it out with her shoe. "You still haven't told me why I had to find out about his death from the CIA."

"To be honest, I wasn't sure how you'd react hearing it from me." Yuri smiled. "I know you were fond of him."

"You know nothing," Irina said.

Yuri glanced in the direction of the church building, then stood. "We won't extract you yet. There might be one or two things we need done first. I'll be in touch."

Irina didn't look at him as he left. In her mind, she replayed the conversation, and came to a horrifying realization: she'd killed Jack. She'd held back information from the KGB, and they'd decided he was no longer useful, and now he was dead.

Irina felt cold, chilled all the way to her bones.

This was all her fault.

She could think of nothing else as Emily came out of the church holding Sydney by the hand, as Arvin drove them back to his house for the wake, as people she'd met only a handful of times murmured their condolences. She didn't recognize which of her friends and students had come, barely even registered Sydney clinging tightly to her hand the entire time she sat on the Sloanes' couch listening to people say they were sorry.

_My fault_.

It hadn't even been a conscious decision to hold back the information. She didn't know why she'd done it, only that for a brief moment she'd felt guilty, and she hadn't wanted to keep lying.

_Jack's dead. My fault._

She felt ill. Mumbling something incoherent, she pushed through the people and headed straight for the bathroom, which was fortunately empty. There was no time to lock the door behind her; she'd barely knelt in front of the toilet when her stomach heaved.

"She's okay," she heard Emily say before the door swung open, then clicked shut. She felt Emily pull her hair back out of her face, and was grateful her friend said nothing as she continued to vomit.

When there was nothing left in her stomach, she sat with her back against the bathtub and hugged her knees to her chest. Emily filled a glass with water and handed it to her. "Small sips," she cautioned.

Irina used the first sip to rinse her mouth, and spat the liquid into the toilet bowl. Then she did as Emily instructed, sipping slowly until the glass was empty.

"You and Sydney are welcome to stay here, if you'd like."

Irina shook her head. "We've imposed enough—"

"It's not an imposition." Emily slid closer to Irina and put her arm around her shoulders. "I can't pretend to know how you feel. But Arvin and I loved Jack, too, and it kills us to see you like this. We only want to help."

Light glinted off Irina's wedding ring, and she was struck by a longing so fierce that she felt the pain rip through her. "He's gone."

Emily gently pulled Irina into a hug. "I know."

"Jack. Oh, Jack." She sobbed in Emily's arms, calling out for Jack even as she knew it was too late and he'd never come.

_I'm sorry._

"I want my Mommy!" She heard Sydney's voice as if from a distance and quickly scrambled to her feet. Glimpsing herself in the mirror, she saw that her hair was a mess, her make up was smudged and her eyes were puffy, but she didn't care. She threw open the door and hugged her daughter.

"I'm here, baby."

"You two need a break," Emily said, and led them to the guest bedroom. "I'll let you know when everyone's gone."

Irina pulled off her shoes and climbed onto the bed. Sydney followed, crawling immediately into her mother's arms. A few minutes later, both were fast asleep.


	3. Chapter 2a

_safe inside myself  
__are all my thoughts of you  
__sweet, raptured light  
__it ends here tonight_

Evanescence, "Fade To Black"

* * *

Irina had never known a grief like this. She'd been a child when her own father had died, younger than Sydney, even, and at the time all she'd understood was that Papa was never coming home again. It was years later when her Babushka died that she finally understood what death really meant, but even though she'd been sad, she had never felt this lost.

The University had allowed her as much time off as she needed, but she already knew that she would never go back. It was only a matter of time before she was extracted, and she found herself counting the days until she could leave with Sydney. There was a part of her that wanted to stay – after so long this had become home. Russia was foreign to her now; the people there had become strangers.

This was where she had met Jack, where she had lived with and loved Jack, and where she had lied to Jack.

There was another part of her that was glad to be going back to Moscow. The part of her that wanted to fall into her mother's arms and be told that everything was okay.

She couldn't sleep either. Sometimes she'd lie on Jack's side of bed until exhaustion claimed her, but she always woke up in the middle of a nightmare in which she was the one torturing him to death. Then she'd wrap herself in a blanket and sit in his chair in the study until the sun came up.

She was careful to be strong for Sydney. Her daughter needed her, she knew that much, and after her breakdown at the wake, Sydney had shadowed her mother as if afraid she would disappear too.

Irina was careful to keep control until after Sydney had gone to bed.

"I don't want to go to school," Sydney announced one morning, two weeks after the funeral.

"Sweetheart, you have to."

"Why?" Sydney's bottom lip trembled as she glared up at her mother. "It won't bring Daddy back."

"You have to go," Irina repeated.

"You can't make me."

"I am your mother, and you will do what I tell you to do."

"I hate you!"

Irina felt as if there was an iron band around her heart, and with each of Sydney's words the band tightened. She couldn't breathe. "Baby, please."

Black spots danced in her vision, and she used the wall to keep her balance as she stumbled to the bathroom.

"Mommy, I'm sorry! Please don't be sick! Mommy! Don't die!"

She wanted to tell Sydney she was fine, but all she could do was lean on the edge of the toilet bowl.

"I'll be good, Mommy. I promise. I'll go to school." Sydney was sobbing now, her arms around Irina's waist as she pressed her face into Irina's back. "I don't hate you, Mommy."

"It's okay, baby."

"Please don't die!"

"I'm not going to die."

After she'd dropped Sydney off at school, and endured another round of "I'm so sorry's" from various teachers, she drove to the hotel where Yuri was waiting for her.

"You're late," he said.

"Sydney didn't want to go to school." She sat on the edge of the bed. "What news do you have?"

Yuri sat next to her, closer than was strictly necessary. She raised an eyebrow in question as he put his hand on her thigh.

"If the child is a problem, we can take care of it."

Irina's hand shot out and closed over his throat. "If you come near my child I'll cut off your balls. Understood?"

"Understood," Yuri choked out. Irina released him, and shifted away from him.

"When will we be extracted?"

"In a hurry to go home?" Yuri closed the distance between them. "Understandable. It's been ten years, hasn't it?"

She made a non-committal sound in the back of her throat, and once again removed Yuri's hand from her thigh.

"A long ten years, Irina Arkadyevna? Have you missed having a real man in your bed?"

Irina stood and crossed the room. "It doesn't mean I'm willing to hop into bed with the first man who comes along."

Yuri was not so easily deterred. He moved behind her and slid one arm around her waist. With his free hand, he moved her hair away from her neck and began kissing her.

"Is this the reason you called me here? To fuck?" She hid her distaste behind thinly veiled irritation.

"I know you cared for Bristow, Ira." Yuri's hands covered her breasts and she gasped, not to encourage him in any way, but because they were surprisingly sensitive. She thought of what she'd suspected for the last few days, and felt something break deep inside her.

"Let's not talk about him," she said.

"It's hardly surprising that you became attached to him." Yuri ground his erection against her ass as he continued to grope her. "I don't give a damn what you did or didn't feel for him. Moscow might not be as understanding."

Irina tilted her head back to give Yuri better access to her neck. She didn't want to spend more time with Yuri than she absolutely had to, so she would give him what he wanted so that he would tell her what she needed to know.

"You talk too much," she said.

Yuri's laugh was muffled against her skin, and his fingers fumbled with her zipper before he roughly jerked her jeans down her hips.

She kept her eyes closed, and told herself it didn't matter anymore. She was nobody's wife now, only the KGB whore she had always been.

* * *

She drove an hour out of town before stopping at a drugstore. Wandering slowly up and down the aisles, she picked out a few items – headache tablets, chewable vitamins for children, lip balm, chocolate – before adding a final item.

The Asian woman behind the register didn't even smile as she calculated the total, and turned her attention back to the book she was reading after Irina paid her.

She drove to a gas station, and after filling up the tank, smiled sweetly at the pimpled teenager behind the counter and asked to use the restroom.

Two minutes later, she stared at the strip of paper in her trembling hand, and started to cry.

There was a knock at the door. "Uh, ma'am?" It was the teenager from behind the counter.

"Just a minute." Irina threw the pregnancy kit in the bin and splashed water on her face.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"Yeah." Satisfied that she looked reasonably presentable, she opened the door and smiled at the boy. "Thanks."

She had a full tank of gas, and time to kill before she needed to fetch Sydney from school. With no destination in mind, she began driving, and found herself at the beach. She sat in the car for a while and turned on the radio, though she didn't even hear any of the songs that played.

Jack had always wanted more children, and she'd put him off, telling him they had plenty of time. "When you're not so busy at work," she said. And, "When Sydney's a little bit older." And, "When my teaching schedule lightens."

And then she'd got pregnant, but miscarried before either of them even knew about it. After that, Jack had stopped asking, and she'd known it was because he was afraid the request would cause her pain. She hadn't realized until then how much she'd wanted another child with Jack either.

She rubbed her stomach, wondering just how far along she was. Six weeks? Eight?

She felt the iron band around her heart loosen slightly. This baby would live; she'd make sure of it. The baby had to live; she'd already lost Jack, and she didn't think she'd survive another loss.

Irina decided something else then, too: she would do whatever she needed to do to get her family back to Moscow, but the first chance she got she was going to leave the KGB.

She remembered how her mother and Elena had always made a point of telling stories about Papa. Katya and Irina had been too young to remember him, but through the stories, they knew him and loved him. Irina would keep Jack alive in the same way; she was determined that her children would know their father.

"Professor Bristow?"

Irina looked out the window to see a young woman standing next to the car. It took a moment to place her, but when she recognized her, she smiled. "Amanda. You startled me."

Amanda bit her lip and shifted uncertainly from foot to foot. "I wasn't sure if I should come over, but – I'm sorry; I don't know what to say."

"It's okay."

She smiled. "I just – I wanted to tell you I'm thinking of you. And I'm sorry about your husband."

Irina nodded.

"Umm, well, I'm going to go now."

"Amanda—"

She turned back, her head tilted questioningly.

"I'm not sure when I'll be back to teach. Please tell the class I said thanks for the cards and the flowers."

"Sure." She smiled again, then walked off.

Time to start living again, Irina thought, and started the car.


	4. Chapter 2b

"How was school?"

Sydney stared out the window. "Fine."

"What did you learn?"

Sydney shrugged. "Some stuff."

"Oh. Well, did anything interesting happen?"

"There were tryouts for the Thanksgiving play."

"Well, that's exciting. Are you going to take part?"

"I guess." Sydney chewed on her thumbnail. "If I have to."

They were stopped at a red light. Irina reached across to brush Sydney's hair behind her ear, mostly as an excuse to touch her. "You don't have to."

"I don't want to."

"Okay."

Sydney was silent for a while. As they pulled into their driveway, she spoke again. "Mommy, can I go to a different school?"

Irina turned off the engine. "Why do you want to change schools?"

"'Cause everyone there feels sorry for me. An' the only reason anyone wants to play with me is 'cause Daddy died. Mrs. Harris told everyone they have to be nice to me."

"Sweetheart, those kids were your friends before Daddy—" She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yeah, but now it's different." Sydney finally looked at Irina, and for the first time Irina saw the empty expression in her daughter's eyes.

"Okay, baby," she said. "You don't have to go back to school."

It didn't matter, she told herself. In a few weeks' time she and Sydney would be in Moscow anyway.

* * *

"You have one last assignment," Yuri had told her. His arms were still wrapped around her, his breath hot against her neck, his belly pressed against her back as he pumped his hips.

"What?"

"An assassination."

"Who?"

"William Vaughn."

She didn't know him, and she didn't care who he was. She had already decided nothing mattered except getting out of America.

Now, hours later, Sydney was finally in bed and Irina was in the shower, scrubbing the feel of Yuri from her skin as she replayed their conversation. She would spend the next week or so planning, and once Vaughn was taken care of, Yuri would give her an extraction date. He'd given her the go ahead to tell people she was planning to leave Los Angeles.

Earlier, she had phoned Emily and told her she was thinking of going to Montana to spend time with relatives. Emily thought that was a great idea. "It will be good for you and Sydney to get away for a while," she had said.

Irina sank down to her haunches as the water beat down on her back. When she'd first come to America, naively thinking she knew everything there was to know about life, she had been completely unprepared for the people who would take hold of her heart. Jack, who was never meant to be anything more than her mark. He'd quickly become her friend, then her love.

She had loved Sydney from the moment she'd realized she was pregnant. When she received orders to have a child with Jack just three days after she found out they were already expecting, she'd been filled with such sweet relief that her child was in no danger.

Emily, whose gentle demeanor always reminded Irina of Tatiana Levin, Elena's best friend.

She thought of her students, some more memorable than others, but she realized now that she loved them too, loved teaching and exchanging ideas.

For the first time, she allowed herself to think of who she would miss when she left Los Angeles.

She had a life here – true, it was Laura's life – but Irina had never been as successful as she should have been when it came to drawing the line between where Irina ended and Laura began.

There had always been more of Irina in Laura than she'd intended. She'd been unable to help it; early in her relationship with Jack she'd known he would like Irina, and she had found herself sharing more of herself with him than she should have.

Irina had never been one to spend time thinking about what could have been, but she wondered now just how different her life would be if she had turned down the assignment.

And she thought of Jack, curling around her as she slept. Sydney's dimpled grin. The child even now growing inside her. Jack's child.

No, she thought, her life couldn't have taken any path other than this. No matter how it had ended, she was meant to have met Jack and married him. It didn't matter that they had only had ten years together.

When she finally got out of the shower, she put on one of Jack's shirts and climbed into bed. Clutching his pillow to her chest, she fell asleep thinking of him.

* * *

The parking garage was almost empty this time of night. Irina heard footsteps approach, and took a deep breath. It was time to begin.

She slammed the trunk of her car and swore loudly.

"Something wrong?"

Irina looked up at William Vaughn and smiled ruefully. "I drove over a nail."

"You got a spare?"

"Yeah, but I don't have a –" she faltered "—a jack."

He smiled, and nodded towards his car. "I've got one."

Irina slipped her gun from its holster at the small of her back as she followed Vaughn to his car. He seemed like a nice man, and she was sorry she had to kill him.

He never saw it coming. A single bullet to the back of his head and he fell to his knees.

Irina reholstered the weapon, and returned to her own car. Fifteen minutes after she drove off, she had to pull over to throw up.

_It's over now. You can go home._

But there was another voice that said _you can never go home again._

* * *

"How long will you be gone?" Emily asked.

Irina shrugged. "I don't know. I just – I can't be here anymore. This house –"

She waved her hand vaguely around the kitchen. She and Emily were sitting at the kitchen table; Sydney was watching TV in the living room. If she hadn't known she would never see Emily again, Irina might have been annoyed that she dropped by or called every day. But as it was, she was grateful for Emily's friendship, and knew Emily's heart was in the right place.

"We'll miss you," Emily said.

Irina smiled. "You and Arvin have been so good to us."

"You're our best friends."

Irina squeezed Emily's hand and poured them both another cup of tea.

"If there's anything you need . . ." Emily left the sentence hanging.

Irina nodded. "I know. Thank you."

Emily wrapped her hands around her teacup and stared down into it. "Arvin's thinking of leaving the Agency," she said.

"What? Why?"

"I think he's finally realized he's not immortal." She blinked back tears. "He said he couldn't bear the thought of what losing him would do to me."

"Oh." Irina's hand trembled and she put her cup down before she dropped it.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

Irina shook her head. "It's okay."

Emily was silent for a moment, then said, softly, "We're trying to have a baby."

Irina thought of her own baby then, and Sydney, who would grow up without their father. Pain cut through her, sharp and strong, but it was only for a moment. She opened her eyes and managed to smile at Emily.


	5. Chapter 3a

_The grand essentials of happiness are: something to do, something to love, and something to hope for._ – Allan K. Chalmers

* * *

Ten years of her life came down to two suitcases. She couldn't afford to take more – everyone thought she and Sydney would only be gone a couple of weeks. So Irina had spent an entire night sorting through what she wanted to keep and what would have to be left behind. She sat at Jack's desk and went through a decade's worth of photographs before deciding on the ones she would hide in the false bottom of one of the suitcases.

She packed a few of Jack's shirts too, thinking she could always buy new clothes for herself in Moscow.

Arvin had returned Jack's wedding ring on the day of the funeral. Irina taped it to the back of their wedding photo; she couldn't risk being caught wearing it on a chain around her neck.

It pained her to leave her books behind – the books Jack had bought for her. The night before they left, she walked around the house, spending some time in each room. In the kitchen she remembered the night the toaster caught fire. That was the last time they were that irresponsible with alcohol.

In the living room she remembered dancing with Jack as they listened to music. There was only the two of them; the rest of the world ceased to exist in those moments.

She remembered how they'd decided the study would be for work only, but smiled as she thought how often they ended up using the desk for far more pleasurable activities.

In the bedroom, she looked at the bed that was far too big for just one person, but she didn't cry.

She had no tears left anyway, and from tomorrow she would have to work her hardest to show everyone who mattered that she had never cared for Jack and she was glad the assignment was over.

Everyone except Sydney and the baby. They would always know what a good man their father was and how passionately he had loved.

Arvin and Emily drove them to the airport. Irina hugged each of them and promised she'd see them again soon. Sydney was withdrawn, mumbling goodbyes as she clutched a bear her father had given her and stared at the ground.

Instead of boarding the flight to Montana, they took a plane to New York. From there they flew to London, took a ferry across the Channel, and traveled by train to Warsaw. By the end of the long journey, Irina was exhausted, and Sydney was even more shut off from what was going on around her.

They'd changed aliases three times since New York, and so when she heard someone call out her real name at the train station in Warsaw, she felt a moment's panic before she recognized the speaker.

Gerard Cuvee walked up to her, a broad smile on his face. "Irina Arkadyevna."

"Gerard."

He kissed each of her cheeks, then gripped her waist and kissed her hard on the mouth. When he pulled away, he was still grinning. "It's been a long time."

"Yes."

"You're even more beautiful than when you left."

Irina looked at Sydney, whose face was painted in an expression of horror. "Sweetheart," Irina said, "this is a very good friend of Mommy's. You can call him Uncle Gerard."

Tears welled up in Sydney's eyes. "You kissed him," she accused.

"Sweetheart, I—" She switched to Russian, and turned back to Cuvee. "Not in front of Sydney. She's just lost her father."

Cuvee smirked. "Want her to keep the illusion that her mother's perfect?"

"Now I remember why I left you."

He laughed. "Oh, I've missed you, Ira."

"I'm sure."

"I've been looking forward to seeing you again. It's going to be fun getting reacquainted."

Irina said nothing. She had a good idea what Cuvee's idea of getting reacquainted meant.

"Yuri says you could hardly wait to get into bed with him after you found out Bristow was dead."

Irina's smile lacked warmth, and she held Sydney's hand tightly as they left the platform. "As usual, Yuri's ego knows no bounds."

Cuvee led them to a non-descript car and opened the trunk so they could stow their luggage. "We'll drive to Moscow together."

Irina glanced at Sydney, who still wore a look of betrayal, and hid her sigh. Her one consolation was that Sydney didn't yet understand Russian, so she wouldn't have to know what was said between Irina and Cuvee.

* * *

When they finally arrived in Moscow, Cuvee pulled up outside an apartment block and walked Irina and Sydney up to the fourth floor. He brushed his hand over Irina's ass when Sydney wasn't looking, and smiled at the glare Irina turned on him. After telling her to report to Lubyanka the next morning, he left them standing outside a door and walked off whistling.

Irina raised her hand to knock.

"Mommy, I want to go home," Sydney said. It was the first time she'd spoken since they left Warsaw.

"Sweetheart, this is home for now."

Sydney hugged her teddy bear to her chest. "I don't like it here."

"It'll be okay, baby. I promise."

The door opened, and Irina was greeted with a shriek of delight. "Irishka!"

She was pulled into a hug before she could react. "Katya."

Katya Derevko stepped back and grinned at her sister. "Mama!" she called without looking away from Irina. "Lena! Guess who's come home!"

Irina ran her hand over Katya's cropped hair. "Interesting look."

Katya shrugged. "It's practical. Who's this?" Her tone changed slightly as she glanced down at Sydney.

"Sydney," Irina said in English, "say hello to your Aunt Katya."

Katya's eyes widened and she moved aside to let Irina and Sydney enter the apartment.

Irina had been in America too long; the apartment seemed too small, too crowded, and the smell of borsht that filled the air was potent and unfamiliar. Larisa Derevko turned from the stove to greet the new arrivals, then gasped in shock.

"Irina! You're home!"

"Hello, Mama." Irina hugged her mother tightly. Tears burned in her eyes, but she knew if she started crying again now, she'd never stop. "Oh, Mama, it's so good to see you."

"When you're done strangling Mama," Elena said, "I'd like to say hello to my baby sister."

Irina smiled at Elena, but didn't let go of Larisa.

"Mommy?" Sydney stood in a corner of the tiny kitchen, her back against the wall as if she wanted to disappear into it. Irina held out her hand.

"Come here, sweetheart. I want you to meet your grandmother."

Sydney looked uncertainly at each of the adults in the room. Then she shook her head, and burst into tears. "I want to go home!"

Irina immediately knelt in front of her and hugged her. "Baby, it's okay. We are home. This is your grandma – you can call her Babushka. She's my Mommy. And these are my sisters, your aunts Elena and Katya."

"I can't understand what they say," Sydney said between sobs. "And I don't like that man. And I want Daddy!"

Irina peppered Sydney's face with kisses, smoothing her tears away with her fingers as she told her over and over again that everything was okay. Sydney finally released the bear and returned her mother's hug. Her tiny body shook as the combination of stress and exhaustion claimed her.

Irina looked up to see the others watching her, various degrees of concern reflected on their faces. She smiled weakly. "It's been a long trip."

"The two of you can sleep with me," Larisa said. "Lenochka, watch the stove." She handed the wooden spoon to Elena and put her hand on Irina's shoulder. "Come with me."

Irina awkwardly got to her feet – Sydney refused to release her hold – and carried her to her mother's bedroom. She managed to get Sydney's shoes off with one hand, then climbed onto the bed and pulled the blankets up to cover them. "I'll be out as soon as she's asleep," she said.

Larisa nodded, and quietly left the room.

A moment later, Katya entered carrying Sydney's bear. She handed it to Irina, then left without saying a word.

When Irina was sure that Sydney wouldn't wake, she slipped out of the bed and returned to the kitchen. The other three Derevko women looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

"I forgot how cold Moscow can get." Irina moved closer to the stove and held out her hands for warmth.

"Ten years, and that's the first thing you say?" Elena shook her head.

"What's the child's name?" Larisa asked.

"Sydney." Irina looked at her wedding ring. She would need to take it off before reporting to Lubyanka in the morning. "Sydney Anne Bristow."

"She'll need a Russian name," Katya said.

"Her name is Sydney." Irina spoke more forcefully than she intended, and she suddenly remembered countless nights spent poring over baby books for the perfect name. Jack had loved the name Sydney from the moment he'd heard it.

Larisa dished up a plate of food and handed it to Irina. "Here. Sit. Eat."

Irina did as she was told.

Larisa watched to make sure Irina ate everything. "Where's her father?"

"He's dead." She paused with the fork in mid-air, then let it drop to the plate. "Mama, he – I—"

Katya put her hand over Irina's mouth to keep her from finishing her sentence. She caught Irina's gaze and slowly shook her head. Irina nodded; she understood. It wasn't safe to talk here. She took a deep breath and forced herself to smile.

"It's good to be home."


	6. Chapter 3b

Irina, Elena and Katya walked into Lubyanka together; Irina flanked by her sisters. She wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or grateful for the gesture; her thoughts were on Sydney, who had thrown a tantrum when she'd been told she was to stay at home with Larisa.

Not for the first time, Irina wondered if her daughter would be okay.

Gerard Cuvee was waiting for them. He smiled appreciatively at both Elena and Katya before focusing his attention on Irina. With an approving nod at her uniform, he tilted his head towards Khasinau's office.

"Shall we?"

"Lead the way."

Alexander Khasinau stood when Cuvee and Irina entered the office. He walked around the desk to greet them. "Irina Arkadyevna, welcome back!"

She smiled. "It's good to be back."

Khasinau opened a cabinet on one side of the room and took out three shot glasses. He filled them to the brim with vodka, then carried them over to his desk. "Please, sit down. Have a drink."

After the glasses had been emptied, Khasinau was all business. "We're very impressed with the work you've done, Irina."

She smiled slightly to acknowledge the compliment.

"Ten years is a long time to stay under cover. We'll understand if you need some time off before coming to back to full duty."

Irina had not been expecting that, and was unsure how to answer. "I appreciate the thought."

"Gerard was telling me about your daughter," Khasinau continued. "Sydney, is it?"

"Yes."

"I'm sure she'll make a fine Soviet one day."

Irina nodded. "She's a smart girl. I'm sure she'll pick up the language in no time."

"I've taken the liberty of enrolling her in one of our best schools." Khasinau smiled. "Who knows? Maybe someday she'll follow in your footsteps and join the KGB."

Irina could think of nothing worse. "Maybe."

"Good. Well, we'll give you some time to get settled before we start the debriefs. Comrade Cuvee will be your direct supervisor." Khasinau smiled. "Just like old times."

Just like old times. She wondered how long it would be before she found herself back in Cuvee's bed.

"There's something you should know." Irina kept her expression blank. "I may be pregnant."

"Is it Bristow's?"

"Possibly."

Khasinau nodded thoughtfully. "We can get that taken care of."

"You obviously don't have children, do you, Alexander?"

Khasinau seemed to find that amusing. "Me? A father?"

"I'm keeping the child." Irina's tone brooked no argument.

The men looked at each other, and Irina could only imagine what they were thinking. She didn't care; she would fight for this baby, and heaven help anyone who got in her way.

* * *

Later, in Cuvee's office, Irina slowly re-buttoned her blouse. Cuvee leaned back in his chair, not bothering to fix his clothes, and watched Irina dress.

"Come here," he said.

Irina crossed the room and stood in front of him wearing nothing but her shirt and heels. Cuvee raised the edge of her shirt and covered her belly with his hand.

"You never used to want children."

"No."

"Did you love him?"

"Bristow?" Irina ran her fingers through Cuvee's hair, trying to distract him while she ordered her thoughts. "Jack was a good man and a good agent. I respected him and I enjoyed being with him, but—" She shook her head. "No. I didn't love him."

"You were with him for a long time." Cuvee undid the buttons and let her shirt slide to the floor.

"How long have we been lovers?" she countered. "Surely you don't think I'm in love with you?"

"No." He pulled her onto his lap. "I know you better than that."

She rocked against him, her eyes closed he drove her further to the edge. Already her time with Jack was beginning to blur, to fade, and while she was sorry for that, she was glad too. In Cuvee's arms she could forget her betrayal, could forget whispered I love you's and promises of forever, could forget everything except the here and now.

"God, I've missed you." Cuvee panted against her neck.

She wrapped her arms around him and let herself go, biting down on his shoulder to keep from calling out Jack's name.

It was afterwards, when she was already halfway home, that everything she'd been trying to forget insisted on remembrance. The last time she had been with Jack was the morning he left for North Korea. They were in the bathtub, and Jack lazily moved his hands between her legs as he spoke about the future. Irina leaned back against his chest and told him she loved him.

When she entered the apartment, Sydney flew into her arms. "Mommy!"

"Hi, sweetheart." Irina brushed her hands over the back of Sydney's head and looked questioningly at Larisa.

"She thought you weren't coming back," Larisa said by way of explanation.

Irina tilted Sydney's chin upwards so Sydney was looking at her. "Oh, sweetheart. I'm not going to leave you, I promise."

Sydney said nothing, but the expression in her eyes spoke volumes. Irina knelt in front of Sydney and kissed her.

"Baby, I know it's hard. I know everything is different, but everything's going to be okay. I promise."

Sydney's eyes filled with tears and Irina felt her fractured heart break just a little bit more. "I want Daddy," Sydney said.

"I know." Irina blinked back her own tears, then tucked Sydney's hair behind her ears. "Me too, baby."

"Is Babushka really my grandma?"

Irina nodded.

"And we're really in Russia?"

"Yes."

"Babushka says she's going to teach me Russian." Though Sydney's smile was weak, it was the first one Irina had seen in weeks, and she thought that maybe things really would be okay after all.

Irina smiled at her mother, and was stunned to see tears in Larisa's eyes as well. "Spasibo, Mama," she mouthed.

Larisa nodded. "Nyet problema, milochka."


	7. Chapter 4a

_Love is the child of an endless war_

_Love is open wound still raw_

- Sting, "Inside"

* * *

Life had settled into a routine, which Irina found comforting. After a few weeks in Moscow, it was easy to pretend that she had never left, and the only time she thought of Jack was at night. She couldn't control her dreams; in truth, she was glad she dreamed of him. She was waiting for Sydney to speak of Jack, but she hadn't yet, and Irina was torn between relief and despair.

The photographs she'd brought with her were now in a box at the bottom of her closet.

Irina's debriefings had begun two weeks after her arrival in Moscow. She'd told them everything they wanted to hear – Jack Bristow was a fool, she pitied him, she never loved him, she was relieved the assignment was finally over. She mixed lies and truth until she too no longer knew which was which. She spared nothing; telling them how she bugged Jack's briefcase and coaxed secrets from him. How she killed each of the agents she'd been ordered to.

The questioning had taken a week, and afterwards Cuvee had taken her to dinner to celebrate her appointment to the research and cryptology department. After dinner, lying in his bed, he told her it had been his suggestion. That he'd done it because she was a mother now.

And so five days a week Irina spent the day poring over translations and codes. She spent weekends with Sydney at the family dacha outside of Moscow. Sydney went to the KGB-run school in the mornings and learned Russian with Larisa in the afternoons.

Even Irina's affair with Cuvee had its routine. He was as demanding and possessive as she remembered, but she could think of worse people to be involved with. All Cuvee wanted was her body, and she was more than willing to use his to forget the life she'd lost.

Sydney seemed to be adjusting to her new life with the adaptability most children her age had. She adored her aunts and her grandmother, and had already made friends with other children in the apartment building. She didn't like Cuvee, though, and on the rare occasions she saw him, she retreated into that shell of silence she'd exhibited on the trip from Warsaw. Irina did her best to keep Cuvee away from her child, and for the most part was successful.

Sydney looked up from the writing exercises she'd been working on and smiled at Irina. "Hi, Mommy."

"Hi, baby." Irina pulled out a chair and sat next to Sydney. The kitchen was the warmest place in the small apartment, and the most logical place for its occupants to gather. Larisa was at the stove, and smiled at Irina.

"Have you been good for Babushka?"

Sydney nodded and angled her notebook to show Irina the painstakingly written Cyrillic characters. "Uh-huh. Look what I learned today."

Irina pressed a kiss to Sydney's forehead. "That's very good, sweetheart."

Sydney grinned, then slipped out of her chair and bent over Irina's lap. "Hiya."

Irina caught Larisa's gaze, and her smile widened.

"Mommy, can the baby really hear me?"

"Of course."

Sydney turned her attention back to Irina's stomach. "Hi. It's Sydney again. Remember?"

Irina smoothed her hand over Sydney's hair.

"Guess what happened at school today?" Sydney continued speaking to the baby. "Piotr Oblonsky said he wanted to be my boyfriend."

Irina's eyebrows shot up in amusement, and her first thought was to wonder what Jack's reaction would have been to hear that. Her smile faded slightly.

"But boys are gross. Except for Daddy."

Irina couldn't breathe.

"Mommy? How come you're having a baby if Daddy's dead?"

"Milochka, come over here and taste this for Babushka." Larisa came to the rescue, holding out a spoon of the soup she was cooking. Sydney scrambled to her feet and crossed the small kitchen.

Irina was suddenly so, so tired.

Her control broke.

She made her escape from the kitchen, pressing a hand to her mouth to keep her cry from being heard. She collapsed onto the bed she shared with Sydney and everything she'd spent the last weeks fighting to hide could no longer be suppressed. Burying her face in the pillow, she sobbed into the material.

_Jack, oh, Jack._

The longing for him was physical. She curled up, making herself as small as she could.

When she'd been pregnant with Sydney, Jack had spent hours running his hands over her stomach, at first as if he could hardly believe this was real, and later as if he was worshipping her.

He had always looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Cuvee thought of her only as something to possess.

"Irina." Katya climbed on the bed next to her. "Irina, talk to me."

Irina shook her head.

"Irina," Katya whispered as she held Irina close, "you need to let him go."

* * *

Music blared over the loudspeakers as the skaters circled the ice at Gorky Park. Irina watched Sydney and Katya from a bench, wrapped in one of Jack's sweaters and a thick coat to guard against the cold. Katya and Sydney skated past hand in hand.

"Mommy! Look!"

Irina waved.

Not long afterwards, Katya and Sydney joined Irina on the bench. Sydney was breathless, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. She looked happier than she had been since they arrived.

"Mommy, this is so much fun!"

"I'm glad you're having a good time, baby."

Sydney glanced at something over Irina's shoulder and her grin disappeared. Irina followed Sydney's gaze, and she held back a sigh.

"Hello, Gerard."

"Irina. Katya." Cuvee sat on the other side of Irina and leaned forward to look at Sydney. "Hello, Sydney."

Sydney mumbled something that could have been hello.

"Okay, I'm ready to skate again." Katya took Sydney's hand and led her back out onto the ice.

"Your daughter doesn't like me," Cuvee said.

"You made a lasting first impression." Irina didn't look at him as she spoke; her eyes tracking Sydney's progress on the ice.

Cuvee rubbed his leg against hers. "What are you doing tonight?"

"Don't tell me that's the reason you came here?"

"I'll be away for the next week. It'll be a lonely week."

"I'm sure you'll find someone to keep your bed warm."

Cuvee squeezed her thigh.

"Where are you going?"

"Siberia. Want to come along and keep me warm?"

She laughed. "No."

"Thought not." Cuvee moved closer. "Tonight, then?"

"Sydney goes to sleep at nine. I'll come over after she's in bed."

Cuvee's smile was triumphant. He gave her leg another squeeze before he stood. "See you later."

* * *

Cuvee trailed his fingers from Irina's shoulder to her hip. "Do you ever think about making this thing permanent?"

"Making what permanent?"

Cuvee gestured at the space between them. "Us."

"Us?" Irina let her amusement show, and laughed. "Feeling sentimental tonight, Gerard?"

"We're good together, Ira." Cuvee resumed his mapping of her skin, his hands sweeping over her belly. "Think about your children. They need a – a father figure."

Irina felt ice creep into her heart, and the smile she gave Cuvee was cool. "I think you just like the idea of owning me."

Cuvee didn't deny it.

"The Derevko women have never needed a man to look after them." She pushed him onto his back and she threw her leg over him as she straddled him. "Or to tell them what to do."

Cuvee's hands came to rest on her hips. He smiled up at her as she began rocking. "But think of the benefits of a permanent arrangement."

Irina stilled. "This is what it is, Gerard. Nothing more."

"I think you're still in love with him." Cuvee squeezed her hips, a sign to keep moving. "And that's why you're having his child."

Irina slowly climbed off Cuvee and sat on the edge of the bed with her back towards him. He moved closer to her and ran his hand up her spine.

"It's not his child," she said.

"Whose, then?"

"I don't know."

"You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"

Irina looked back over her shoulder, one corner of her mouth tilted upwards in a half-smile. "He was away so often. I was bored, lonely."

Cuvee stared at her, and for a moment she was sure he wouldn't buy the lie, but then he started laughing. "You really are a little witch, aren't you?"

She moistened her lips with her tongue.

"Stand up," Cuvee said. "There, in front of the mirror."

He came up behind her, and she looked at the reflection of his hands on her belly. (Jack had constantly touched her growing stomach, and told her she was beautiful when she complained of feeling like a whale.)

"Turn around." Cuvee's voice was nearly hoarse with desire. "On your knees."

As she took him into her mouth, it was Jack she thought of, and for the first time she was unable to succeed in pushing him out of her mind while with Cuvee.


	8. Chapter 4b

A baby's cry cut through the night, and Irina stumbled out of bed. She picked Nadia out of the cradle and rocked the infant against her chest. Moving from the bedroom to the kitchen, she sat at the table and looked out the window over the moonlit landscape as she began to feed Nadia.

She'd been at the dacha since Nadia's birth two months earlier, accompanied by Larisa. Sydney continued going to school during the week, and came up with Katya on weekends. Irina had a suspicion Cuvee'd had something to with her extended absence from active duty, and knew he'd expect repayment for the favour, but she didn't care. This precious time with her girls was worth any price.

"Mommy?" Sydney stood at the entrance to the kitchen, sleepily rubbing at her eyes.

"Yes, sweetheart? Is something wrong?"

Sydney shook her head. "Can't sleep."

"Okay. Come here."

Sydney crossed to the table and leaned into Irina's side as she looked down at her sister. "Mommy? Is – Is Uncle Gerard Nadia's Daddy?"

For a moment Irina was too stunned to say anything. "Sweetheart, no. Why would you think that?"

Sydney shrugged. "'Cause, well, he's your boyfriend."

"Sydney—"

But Sydney was already distancing herself from Irina. She turned away and took a glass from the rack beside the sink, then poured herself some water.

"Sydney, you and Nadia have the same Daddy."

Sydney held the glass in both hands and raised it to her mouth. She kept her eyes on Irina as she drank, then put the glass in the sink. "How come you don't love Daddy anymore?"

"Sweetheart—"

"You never talk about him." Sydney's tone was accusing.

Irina closed her eyes and drew in deep breaths to calm herself. "When you were born, Daddy said you were the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. I don't think he stopped smiling for weeks. He was always so proud of you, baby. Daddy loved you so much."

Sydney shifted from foot to foot, then slowly approached her mother.

"Do you remember the camping trip we all went on, when you broke your leg?" Irina continued. "You were so brave, and Daddy and I were so scared."

"Mommy." Sydney sat on the floor next to Irina, leaning against her legs.

"Your Daddy was the best man I ever knew. And if I don't talk about him, it's not because I don't love him, sweetheart. It just hurts too much." Irina wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "You can ask me anything about him, baby. Whenever you want. Okay?"

"Okay."

Irina adjusted her hold on Nadia, and burped her. "Come on, let's put your sister back to bed, and you and I can talk some more."

"About Daddy?"

"If that's what you want."

Sydney nodded, but there was something in her expression that still seemed strange.

"Sweetheart, what is it?"

"Do you love Uncle Gerard like you love Daddy?" She spoke so quickly that it sounded like one long word.

"No. I don't think I can love anybody the way I love Daddy."

Sydney exhaled, and her smile was shot through with relief.

* * *

And so the nighttime conversations began. After dinner, Irina put Nadia to bed, then took out the photographs she'd smuggled back with her, and told Sydney whatever she wanted to know about Jack.

One night, the weekend after that first awkward scene in the kitchen: "Mommy, how did you meet Daddy?"

Irina couldn't help but smile as she related the events of that Fall day. She hadn't been supposed to make contact for another few weeks, but as she walked to the University library, paying more attention to the book she was reading than the path, she crashed into Jack, who had been looking at his study notes. He apologized, she apologized, they both scrambled to collect the notes which the wind threatened to carry away, and he'd invited her out for coffee.

"Was it love at first sight?" Sydney asked.

"Well, I knew I would marry him the moment I saw him."

Sydney grinned.

One Friday: "Do you think Daddy can hear us if he's in heaven?"

"Yes, of course."

"Maybe he's our guardian angel now." Sydney cast her gaze around the living room. "Maybe he's right here, but we just can't see him."

Irina swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. "Maybe."

A Sunday night, when Nadia was colicky and refusing to sleep: "She looks like a little doll," Sydney said.

"That's what Daddy said about you."

"Did I scream lots like her?"

"Sometimes. But then Daddy would take you and walk around the house, telling you stories until you fell asleep."

"Really?"

"Really." Irina rocked Nadia gently as she walked around the kitchen. "You always seemed to like Daddy's stories more than mine."

"Tell Nadia a story about Daddy. Maybe then she'll stop crying."

* * *

Elena had come up with Katya and Sydney, and Irina was glad to see her despite the news she'd brought. Her maternity leave was over, and she was expected to return to Moscow with her sisters on Monday. Irina didn't want to leave; life at the dacha was comfortable, and – though she wouldn't consciously admit it – the closest she came to being Laura again.

But she had known this time wouldn't last, so she made up her mind to enjoy the rest of the weekend. Monday was still two days away.

She was currently lying in the bathtub, and though the water was cooling and her skin was turning wrinkly, Irina was too content to get out just yet. Her mind was on her latest conversation with Sydney, and the startling realization that she was able to talk about Jack without feeling that her heart would break into a million pieces.

When she heard the door handle being turned, she regretted that she hadn't thought to lock the door. "Sydney, what has Mommy told you about knocking?"

She sat up, then froze. It wasn't Sydney. It was a tall man, dressed in farmer's clothes, a beard hiding his features, and pointing a gun at Irina.

There was nothing in this tiny room that she could use as a weapon, she realized in dismay. She slowly got to her feet, hoping to use her body to distract him long enough to disarm him.

He didn't move, and his gaze didn't once flicker from her face. There was something familiar—

"Oh, God." Once again, she was frozen. All thought of fighting left her mind, and all she could think was _Jack, Jack, Jack_. "You're alive."

She stepped out of the tub and reached for him. She didn't understand how this was possible, but it didn't matter. He was here and he was alive and—

He backhanded her across the face, and the force sent her stumbling backwards.

"Jack?"

He grabbed her by the throat and pressed the muzzle of his gun to her temple. "I've been dreaming about this for months," he said.

"Jack, what--?"

"Shut. Up." His grip on her throat tightened and she gasped. "I'm not interested in explanations. I came here to kill you and take Sydney home."

Irina shook her head weakly. "Please—"

"Please?" His expression was mocking. There was nothing in him of the loving husband she remembered, and she realized despairingly that his eyes were empty of any light.

"Thought – dead—"

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

It was getting harder to breathe. "No."

He was going to kill her, and he would never know the truth. Tears escaped her eyes and she used her remaining strength to raise her hand and lightly caress his cheek. His beard was rough under her fingers, his skin warm, and even as her legs gave in beneath her, she was filled with indescribable joy that he was alive.

It was the last thing she thought before her world turned black.


	9. Chapter 5a

_I don't know if you're alive or dead.  
__Can you on earth be sought,  
__Or only when the sunsets fade  
__Be mourned serenely in my thought?  
__  
All is for you: the daily prayer,  
__The sleepless heat at night,  
__And of my verses, the white  
__Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire._

_No one was more cherished, no one tortured  
__Me more, not  
__Even the one who betrayed me to torture,  
__Not even the one who caressed me and forgot._

Anna Akhmatova, "I don't know if you're alive or dead"

* * *

The young Korean agent sneered before bringing the butt of his rifle down against Jack's head. Jack stumbled to his knees; the pain shooting through his skull demanding all his attention. Jack braced himself for the next blow. There was no time to wonder how the mission had gone to hell, who had betrayed them, what would happen next.

A gunshot. Jack looked up; Myers was on the floor in a pool of blood.

Another shot. Anderson.

A third shot. Laidley.

Jack was next. _Laura, Sydney!_

A fourth shot, but the bullet was in his shoulder and not his head. It took a moment for Jack to realize that things could – and were going to – get much, much worse.

Another blow to his head, and he passed out.

* * *

He woke up cold; naked but for the dirty bandage covering his bullet wound, in a small, dark cell. At first he assumed he was still in North Korea, but after a few days of listening to prisoners call out to each other and hearing guards bark orders in Russian, he realized he'd been moved somewhere else, somewhere deeper inside the Soviet Union.

He wondered how long he'd been here, if someone had told Laura what had happened. She'd be so worried, he thought. She worried too much when he was away.

And Sydney – Sydney was too young to lose her father.

There was a mocking laugh from outside Jack's cell, and he looked up to see a man around his own age staring down at him. Jack immediately slipped into his cover role: a German journalist who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Please, Herr, I don't know what's going on. My wife—"

The other man laughed again. When he spoke, it was in English. "Ah, yes. Let's talk about your wife, Agent Bristow."

Jack said nothing. He shook his head; there was no need to feign confusion. "Herr, I don't – my name is Gunther Koch – I –"

"There's no need to pretend, Jack." The man leaned his arms through the bars. "You and I are going to become very good friends."

* * *

They wouldn't let him sleep, kept him naked and fed him just enough to keep him alive. He sat in the corner of his cell, hugging his knees to his chest, and thought of home.

The morning he left, he'd told Laura he loved her. He made sure to do that before each of his missions, just in case it was the last time he would ever get to tell her. Right now she was probably worried sick about him. She would have been told nothing, only that he was missing. She wasn't even supposed to know where he was, but he'd told her.

He always told her everything, and now he realized he should have said less. Knowing where he was would only increase her level of worry.

He would make it out of here, he decided. He would get back home, somehow, and he would make sure he got another chance to tell her he loved her.

Maybe it was time to stop doing field work. He didn't want Sydney to grow up without a father. And if he was home more, maybe he and Laura could think about having more children.

He closed his eyes, and pictured Laura and Sydney smiling at him.

* * *

"You're lying!" Jack spat at Cuvee. He didn't know how many days had passed since that first day Cuvee had come to his cell, or how many times he'd been told Laura wasn't Laura and his whole life was an illusion. He refused to believe it. It wasn't possible. Laura loved him. She loved Sydney. She was exactly who she said she was.

Cuvee calmly wiped his cheek dry and his expression pitied. "Your precious wife is nothing more than a whore."

"Don't talk about Laura like that!"

Cuvee smiled. "Irina's extraordinary, isn't she? She's a goddess between the sheets."

"Shut. Up!" Jack struggled against his restraints, without success. The handcuffs cut into his wrists, the gunshot wound in his shoulder burned, and he knew that if he could just get free, he would kill Cuvee.

"Right now she's telling your little girl you're dead. One of these days she'll be back in Moscow, and back in my bed." Cuvee tilted his head appraisingly. "You know, I don't think I got around to telling you. This was Irina's idea. Payback for the ten years she had to spend with you."

* * *

They gave him clothes, shoes, a blanket for the cold. He got three meals a day – he thought – his sense of time was still slightly off. The food wasn't exceptional, but it was edible. Most of the time.

One of the guards even gave him toothpaste and a toothbrush, which had been something of a surprise.

But he struggled to sleep; the earlier deprivation had taken its toll and he could only manage a few hours before he woke up again.

Cuvee visited frequently.

* * *

Cuvee brought photos. Laura – Irina – Laura in Red Square. Laura in a KGB uniform outside Lubyanka. Laura.

No, Irina.

Jack believed it now. Pictures could be doctored, he knew that, but Cuvee had described Laura – Irina's body too perfectly, the way her breath caught in her throat when she came, the ticklish spot behind her knee.

Jack felt empty. Everything he knew to be true, his entire life was nothing more than a lie. Laura had never loved him.

Laura had never existed.

At first Jack had wanted to escape so he could return to his family. Now all he wanted to do was escape so he could find the woman who had betrayed him, and put a bullet in her lying heart.

* * *

More photos, this time of Irina fucking Cuvee in a variety of locations. Cuvee studied one of the two of them on a desk and smiled before holding it up for Jack to see.

"I remember this. Right after her debriefing." He laughed. "She couldn't even wait for me to undress!"

Jack looked away.

"And this – come on, Jack, you'll want to look at this – she was wild."

Jack didn't respond.

"You don't like the photos?" Cuvee shrugged. "How about a movie then?"

He showed Jack the film of Irina's debriefing, and Jack listened to the woman he had loved more than life itself tell him she thought he was a fool, and she'd never loved him.

* * *

Cuvee offered Jack a cigarette before lighting one for himself. Jack's refusal didn't seem to bother him, and he sat on a stool in one corner of the interrogation room. "You know, I'm surprised you didn't figure it out," Cuvee said. "You're supposed to be so smart."

No reply.

"Did you really think a woman like her could ever go for a man like you?"

"She's pregnant," Cuvee said matter-of-fact one morning. "The baby's mine."

Jack spat at Cuvee again.

"What, no congratulations?"

"Go to hell."

Cuvee smiled. "You might just beat me there." A brief pause. "I've asked her to marry me."

Another pause. "She said yes."


	10. Chapter 5b

"You know," Cuvee said, "it's fortunate Sydney takes after her mother."

He brought photographs of Sydney at her new school, skating at an outdoor ice rink with a woman Jack didn't recognize, with Irina. Jack didn't want to give Cuvee the pleasure of seeing how the photographs affected him, but he couldn't hide his relief that Sydney was alive and healthy and looked happy.

Her smiling image gave him strength.

"Did I ever tell you Irina was sixteen when I met her? I was her first lover." Cuvee studied a picture of Sydney. "I wonder what Sydney will be like at sixteen. She's so much like her mother already."

"You stay the hell away from my daughter!" Jack tried to lunge at Cuvee, but he was cuffed to the chair and could do nothing more than struggle uselessly.

Cuvee laughed.

* * *

"Daddy," Sydney had said one morning, "when I grow up I want to marry you."

"Sweetheart, you can't marry your daddy."

Sydney frowned. "How come?"

"Because I'm your daddy."

"Oh." Sydney's frown deepened as she reached for her glass of juice.

"Why do you want to?" Jack hadn't been able to resist asking.

"'Cause Mommy says you're the best man in the whole wide world and she says she's the happiest Mommy ever."

Jack glanced across the kitchen and smiled at his wife. "Is that so?"

"Uh huh." Sydney nodded solemnly. "Right, Mommy?"

"That's right, sweetheart." She passed Jack a cup of coffee, her fingers brushing against his.

Jack stared up at the roof of his cell and felt a longing so sharp that it was almost a physical ache.

* * *

"You know," Cuvee said, "I was going to comment on how lucky you were to have Irina all to yourself for ten years."

He laughed. "But then I realized you didn't have her all to yourself, did you?"

Jack glared at him.

"What? You didn't think she was faithful, did you?" More laughter. "You did! That – it's almost pathetic."

Cuvee leaned closer. "If it's any consolation, she always waited until you were out of the country before inviting anyone else into her bed."

* * *

He imagined conversations that had never happened: "Jack, there's something I need to tell you, but before I do, I need you to believe that I love you."

"Why wouldn't I believe that?"

And: "Jack, I've made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me."

"Of course I do."

Or: "Jack, I've been lying to you. My name's not Laura."

He thought if he heard the words in her voice, it wouldn't be so strange.

In his dreams, she said, "Jack, we're in danger. I'll explain everything later, but I'm KGB and I've turned and we need to run away."

Not all his dreams were pleasant: "You stupid fool, how could you think I ever loved you?" She laughed as she raised her gun and began to fire.

Sometimes he dreamed she was the one torturing him instead of Cuvee. Sometimes it was both of them, and he had to watch as they fucked on the table in front of him.

"Do you know how many times I wanted to kill you while you slept? Do you know how close I came to going through with it?"

He woke up in a cold sweat.

* * *

He dreamed of a church, music, a beautiful bride walking down the aisle towards him. It was the happiest day of his life; he was the luckiest man in the world. Laura smiled at him from behind her veil as she drew nearer, her lips blood red. Instead of a bouquet of flowers, she held a gun. Her nails were painted the same shade as her mouth, and Jack was surprised to realize that no one else seemed to think something was very wrong.

And then he noticed he wasn't the groom; he was the best man, and Gerard Cuvee held out his hand for his bride.

"Daddy!" Sydney called. But she ran to Cuvee instead, and before Jack could protest, Laura shot him in the chest.

* * *

Alone in his cell, he imagined all the different ways he could torture Cuvee. He thought about how he was going to kill Irina and pictured the look on her face when she realized he'd won.

His hands around her neck, squeezing the life out of her as she struggled for breath. A knife twisted in her gut as she bled out in his arms. A bullet to her heart, her head, the back of her neck.

Maybe he would torture her first. Make her suffer for every soul-sucking minute he spent in this place, every second he was away from his daughter.

But he also dreamed of the way she felt in his arms, and the warmth of her smile when she looked at him. He remembered long, sweaty nights that couldn't possibly be a lie. Remembered shared laughter and dancing to records and the promise she'd made to love him forever and a day.

There were some moments when he believed that not everything had been a lie, but then he'd remember photographs of his wife in Cuvee's arms and her voice scornfully telling her colleagues he meant nothing to her.

Only thoughts of Sydney kept him sane.

* * *

"He's lying." Laura wrapped her arms around Jack and kissed him. "It's all a set up, sweetheart. You know who I am."

"It's not true?"

"Of course it's not true. I love you."

He closed his eyes in relief. "I knew it. I knew it."

A bucket of cold water over his head brought him back to consciousness.

"Dreaming again, Jack?" Cuvee asked.

* * *

He had no idea how much time had passed, but he spent every day waiting for the opportunity to escape. In the end, it was easier than he expected: a new guard unlocked Jack's cuffs before leaving the cell. He turned his back to Jack, and Jack attacked. He broke the guard's neck, stole his keys and his gun, and started running.

He shot two more guards before making it out of the building, and as he looked around he felt a sense of desolation. There was nothing in any direction except open land.

But there was a car. He jimmied the lock, then hotwired the ignition and began heading west.

As he drove, he realized he didn't even know what country he was in, or what month it was. All he knew was that somewhere out there was the woman who had betrayed him, and he had a score to settle. There were two people he needed to kill, and then he would take his daughter back home and try to put their lives back together.

He couldn't shake the thought that freedom didn't taste as sweet as he'd expected.


	11. Chapter 6a

_Where there is love, there is life._ – Mohandas K. Gandhi

* * *

Jack had been to Moscow once before. It had been a quick mission, and he hadn't seen much of the city beyond the building he'd broken into and the safe house he and his partner had stayed at. Now he wandered the city without contacts, without money and without a place to stay, and all he could think about was finding Irina.

He picked the pocket of a well-dressed man coming out of the Hotel Rossiya, and bought himself a hat and some clean clothes. After he found a cheap restaurant and ate the first real meal he'd had in weeks, he set off for Lubyanka Square. With his hat pulled low on his head and his scruffy beard, he could have passed for a Muscovite.

He bought a copy of _Pravda_ and sat on a bench from which he could see the entrance to the building. After waiting an hour, he saw Cuvee exit, a laughing blonde woman strolling down the steps beside him. Jack followed at a distance, though he had a suspicion that Cuvee was not going to lead him to his wife. At least, not this time.

It didn't matter; Jack was a patient man.

He was right. Cuvee and the blonde disappeared into an apartment block. Jack didn't want to risk following any further, and waited outside, keeping his eye on the entrance. About half an hour later, the blonde left. Jack waited another fifteen minutes before he saw Cuvee leave.

He swore to himself when he realized that Cuvee was heading back to Lubyanka. Shortly before Cuvee turned the last corner, he quickly changed direction and cut across the road, dodging traffic to get to the other side.

Jack watched him greet another woman, this one with dark hair and a face so familiar that for one moment Jack thought it was Irina. But Cuvee called out "Elena!" and Jack could breathe again.

He couldn't hear the conversation from where he stood, but the woman's body language was enough to tell him that she did not like Cuvee. Jack tried to read her lips, but could only make out a few words.

". . . out of town . . . baby . . . weekend . . . Irina . . ."

Cuvee nodded, then said something else to the woman. She didn't seem pleased, but nodded as well. Then Cuvee bent his head to kiss her cheek. She jerked her head away and stepped backwards.

Curious, Jack crossed the road. He reached the other side in time to hear, "I don't understand this hold you have on my sister, but I'm warning you, Gerard—"

"Come now, Elenka." Cuvee reached for her arm, which she promptly wrenched free of his grasp.

"Irina deserves more than this, and when she realizes what kind of man you really are—"

"Irina knows exactly what kind of man I am." Cuvee smiled, and Jack felt slightly nauseous. "I'm not forcing her to do anything, Elena. She's with me because she chooses to be."

"And if she chose otherwise, would you let her go?"

Cuvee tilted his head to one side, his expression mocking as he regarded Elena. "And why on earth would she choose otherwise?"

Elena didn't respond.

Cuvee smirked, then turned around and crossed the road again. Elena remained where she was, her expression thoughtful, and Jack studied her. If he understood correctly, this was Irina's sister.

("Is this you?" Jack held the photo of Laura and a baby. He couldn't look away; there was something about the picture that demanded his attention.

"Yes."

"And the baby?"

Sadness flashed across her features. "My niece. She – she's dead.")

She was also dressed in a KGB uniform, Jack noticed, and the pity he'd begun to feel instantly evaporated.

As she began to walk away, Jack followed, certain that she would lead him to Irina. He could hardly believe how close he was to finding her, and to ending this nightmare.

* * *

It was a long day. Apparently Elena liked to walk. Jack tailed her to a restaurant and eavesdropped on a boring conversation about a long-dead Italian inventor, then followed her to the library where he waited on the steps for an hour before she came out again. After that he traced her steps through the University campus, where she met with another woman, also dressed in a KGB uniform and bearing more than a passing resemblance to his wife. Another sister? Irina had rarely spoken of her family.

"He wants her to come back," Elena was saying when Jack got near enough to listen. "I – I don't think she should. She's been different the last few weeks, more like herself, and if she goes back to Gerard—" Elena sighed. "I don't know."

"What other alternative does she have?" The other woman ran her fingers through her short hair. "The girls are her first priority now. She'll do whatever she has to in order to keep them safe."

"She would have been better off if she'd never come back."

"Elena, be careful what you say."

"He wants her back on Monday."

The other woman nodded. "I'll take Sydney through to the dacha tonight then; give them an extra day together. Are you still planning on coming tomorrow?"

"Yes. I'll speak to Khasinau tomorrow and see if I can get her a little more time."

Jack thought about what he'd just heard – Irina was not in Moscow, it seemed, though Sydney was. And these women were planning on taking Sydney to wherever Irina was. Jack wondered if he should wait until Monday when Irina was supposed to be back, or if he could somehow follow to the women to wherever she was now.

If he waited, there was the risk that Irina might not come back.

He thought about what Cuvee had told him in the prison: that Irina had agreed to marry him, that his imprisonment was her idea, and he felt his resolve strengthen.

He would follow the women to Irina, and then he would kill her and get Sydney out of the country before anyone realized anything was out of the ordinary.

But that didn't solve the problem of Cuvee.

Irina's betrayal of him was worse than anything Cuvee had done, he decided. Cuvee could wait. He could come back and take care of him another time.

* * *

Jack followed the second woman home to her apartment. He hung around outside the building for a while, wondering if it was safe enough to go inside. Just then, he noticed Elena arrive. She was driving a car this time, and when Jack saw Sydney climb out of the passenger seat, it took all of his self control not to call her name.

"Okay, we're home now!" Jack was surprised to hear Russian come out of his daughter's mouth. "So what's my surprise?"

She's so beautiful, Jack thought. She looked taller than he remembered, her hair was longer, and the sound of her laughter was a balm to his soul.

"You can ask Aunt Katya when you're inside." Elena took her hand as they walked into the building together.

Jack leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling a lightheaded relief. Whatever else had happened, Sydney was alright.

Then, just as suddenly, he returned to agent-mode. If the other woman – Katya – was going to leave with Sydney tonight, Jack was going to need a car.

He quickly began walking away from the building.

* * *

The car Elena had arrived in was no longer there when he returned. He didn't panic – there was no reason to assume that Katya had taken the car. It was possible they hadn't left yet.

But worry gnawed at him; what if he'd missed his chance?

He saw an elderly woman exit the building and slowly come down the stairs. Jack stepped out of the car he'd stolen and walked towards her.

"Excuse me." He hoped his Russian was passable. "Is this where Katya Derevko lives? I'm supposed to meet her tonight but I've forgotten the number of her—"

The babushka began to laugh.

"Please. It's important."

"It always is." She sighed, then tucked a loose curl back into her headscarf. "Ekaterina's not here. You'll have to ask Elena where you can find her."

"And the child?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you want with the child?"

Jack held up his hands in what he hoped was a gesture of appeasement. "I'm a friend of the family."

The babushka sniffed in disapproval and pushed past Jack. He sighed, then returned to the car to wait.


	12. Chapter 6b

Elena drove to Lubyanka first thing in the morning. Jack took the chance to buy breakfast, then hurried back to his car to wait. By the time Elena came rushing down the stairs, not looking too happy, he'd finished his meager meal and was ready to follow her.

She was in a different car, one that looked to be KGB-issued. Jack frowned; what kind of family was this, with three members in the KGB? Were there more of them?

What was waiting for him at the end of this journey?

He glanced at his passenger seat. The gun he'd stolen from the guard at the prison was hidden inside the folded newspaper. At least, Jack thought, he wasn't going into this situation unarmed. There were enough bullets for each of the sisters, if necessary.

Nothing – no one – was going to keep his daughter away from him.

It was after mid-day when Elena turned down a narrow dirt road. From the main road, Jack could see a house in the distance. There were no other houses in the direction Elena was going, so Jack decided to wait before approaching the house. He needed the element of surprise, and driving in behind Elena would be a dead giveaway.

He drove a little further, then pulled off the road and popped the hood open. He removed the spark plugs and hid them beneath the driver's seat, just in case he needed the car again when he escaped with Sydney.

Then he stuck the gun in his belt and began walking back towards the house.

* * *

Sydney was laughing.

It was the first thing he heard as he drew near to the house.

"Mommy, that tickles!"

"What? This?"

Sydney squealed in delight, and it struck Jack that Irina had spoken in English. He peered out from the tree he'd hidden behind.

Sydney and Irina were sitting on the steps, an open book lying next to them. Irina had pulled Sydney onto her lap and was tickling her. Jack could do nothing but stare; how long had he dreamed of this? He wanted to run up to them and take them in his arms and tell them he loved them. How was it possible that his wife was more beautiful than he remembered?

And then another woman walked out the house to join them. Jack hadn't seen her before, but she looked enough like Irina and her sisters that he assumed she was related to them. An older sister, maybe. She was carrying a baby.

Sydney jumped off Irina's lap and gave the woman a hug. Then she carefully took the baby from her arms.

And Jack remembered Cuvee's words, remembered this wasn't his child, remembered his wife had never loved him.

"Be careful," the older woman said in Russian.

Jack sank to the ground. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back in Los Angeles with Laura and Sydney. He wished he'd never gone on the North Korean mission, wished nothing had changed.

"Let's go for a walk," Jack heard. He looked around the tree again. Elena and Katya had joined Irina and the other woman. Both were dressed casually now, and it was hard to imagine them in the bland KGB uniforms.

Sydney let the older woman take the baby from her, then grabbed her aunts' hands. "I want to see if the bird's nest is still there!"

She dragged them towards the other side of the house. Jack watched Irina stand, hug the other woman, kiss the baby's forehead, then enter the house. The woman came down the steps and went in the same direction Sydney had led Elena and Katya, and Jack knew that the time had come to act.

He hurried towards the house. Once inside, he carefully listened for the sound of any movement, then heard water splashing from behind a closed door.

Now or never, he thought, and pushed the door open.

"Sydney, what has Mommy told you about knocking?" Irina sat up in the bathtub, then froze, staring at him in shock.

She was even more beautiful up close. He thought of her in Cuvee's arms, and raised the gun.

She slowly got to her feet. He kept his gaze on her face, and saw the moment she recognized him.

"Oh, God. You're alive." She stepped out of the tub and reached for him. He backhanded her across the face, and the force sent her stumbling backwards. "Jack?"

He grabbed her by the throat and pressed the muzzle of his gun to her temple. "I've been dreaming about this for months," he said.

"Jack, what--?"

"Shut. Up." His grip on her throat tightened and she gasped. "I'm not interested in explanations. I came here to kill you and take Sydney home."

Irina shook her head weakly. "Please—"

"Please?" His expression was mocking.

"Thought – dead—"

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

She gasped. "No."

His grip tightened. Her eyes fluttered closed and she sagged in his arms. This was too easy; she deserved to suffer the way he'd suffered. She would die, but not like this. He lowered her to the floor and breathed life into her.

She gasped, and her eyelids fluttered open. She seemed confused for a moment, and then she smiled, and her expression contained the same mixture of warmth and joy and surprise he'd seen earlier. There was a time when that smile would have melted his heart, but he was a different man now.

Suddenly, her expression darkened and all the light left her eyes. "You tried to kill me!" she hissed.

He traced the red marks on her neck, the first of many he intended to inflict. She reacted violently, and before he knew it, she'd flipped them over so that he was on his back and she was straddling him. She grabbed his wrists, pinning them above his head, and it was at this moment that he realized she was still naked.

Her face was close to his, near enough that her breath warmed his lips, and he couldn't quite decipher the look in her eyes.

"You're alive." Her tone held wonder; something else he didn't understand. And then it didn't matter, because her lips were on his, and this was so familiar but at the same time completely strange.

_She's not Laura_.

Her grip on his wrists had loosened, and he took advantage of her distraction to act. He shoved her off him, giving her another backhand to the face for good measure, and scrambled away from her.

The bathroom door flew open, and he found himself looking up at the older woman he'd seen earlier. Except this time she was holding a gun instead of a baby, and it was pointed at him.

"Mama, it's okay." Irina held up a hand and shifted so that she was leaning with her back against the tub. Her other hand was pressed to her cheek, and Jack found the sight of her blood strangely disconcerting. It crossed his mind that killing her might prove to be more difficult than he'd anticipated.

"What the hell is going on?"

Irina's laugh sounded hollow. "I'm not entirely sure."

"Who are you?"

He said nothing, but raised his chin defiantly.

"Mama, it's Jack." Irina reached for a nearby towel, and wrapped it around her body, leaving bloody handprints on the material. She slowly got to her feet, then swayed unsteadily before taking a seat on the edge of the tub.

"Jack? Your Jack?" The woman stared at him for a long moment, then, to Jack's surprise, lowered the gun, and smiled. "How is this possible?"

Jack took advantage of their confusion to pick up his gun. He pointed it at Irina again, then glanced from her to her mother. Irina, her eyes on him, tried to stand again. She reached up to touch her head, and winced.

Her mother had stopped smiling by now, and Jack noticed she'd raised her gun as well. "Why did you attack my daughter?" Her tone was ice.

"You want just one reason?"

Irina was pale and looking at Jack as if he'd been the one to break her heart instead of the other way around. Then she tore her gaze away from him and turned to her mother. "Where are the girls?"

"Outside."

Irina nodded and took a step towards the door.

"Don't. Move."

Her shoulders sagged.

"Give me your weapon, Agent Bristow."

"You give me yours."

The older Derevko smiled again, but this time it was cruel. "You have until the count of three to give your weapon to Irina."

Irina stepped between them. "Mama, no."

"Let me guess," Jack said dryly, "you're KGB too?"

"Retired."

"Talk about the mother-in-law from hell."

"Jack!" Irina hissed as she spun around to glare at him. Then she turned an even whiter shade of pale, and her knees buckled. Jack reached for her on instinct, catching her before she could hit the floor. And all he could do was stare at her as he held her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." She reached up to touch his face, and he tried to decipher the look in her eyes. She smiled. "This beard is awful."

He managed a weak smile. "Yeah."

"Your gun, Agent Bristow," her mother said.

"Let her have it, Jack."

"Are you out of your mind? She'll shoot me the second I hand it over."

"No, she won't."

"Babushka!" Sydney called. "The eggs hatched! Come see the baby birds!"

Irina was still in Jack's arms when she said, "Don't tell them yet, Mama."

"If you raise a hand to my daughter again, Agent Bristow, it will be the last thing you ever do." She stepped back and closed the bathroom door, leaving Jack and Irina alone again.

Neither moved, though Jack's arms tightened just a fraction around Irina's waist. He wanted to hurt her, he wanted to kill her, but he couldn't. It was easy enough to hate her from afar, but now that she was in his arms again, he wanted nothing more than to drown in her kiss and pretend that nothing had changed.

She whispered his name a second before their mouths met.


	13. Chapter 7

_I love you – those three words have my life in them._ – Alexandra (to Nicholas III)

* * *

She'd dreamed of this, of being back in Jack's arms, kissing him again. Now that he was here, she could allow herself to admit that. It didn't matter how this had happened, all that mattered was that he was alive and that he was with her.

He pushed her away. "I can't do this."

"Jack, I—"

He held the gun out to her. "Shoot me. Might as well finish what you started."

"What?" Feeling oddly vulnerable, she clutched the towel tighter around herself, making no move to take the gun.

"I know everything." He paused. "Irina."

She felt the name cut through her. "Jack—"

"I didn't come here for excuses."

Irina sat on the edge of the tub again. Her head hurt and she was cold, but none of that mattered. "They said you died." It was difficult to speak. "The CIA, the KGB – Jack, we had your funeral."

Jack knelt in front of her, and dipped a washcloth into the bath. Then he slowly washed the blood from her face. "I only have one question for you."

"Okay."

"Did you hate me so much?" His tone was at odds with the gentleness of his actions. "Couldn't you just have killed me in my sleep?"

"That's two questions."

His eyes narrowed, and he let his hand fall away from her face.

"Jack, I don't know what happened, or where you've been." She spoke quickly, willing him to believe her. "I don't hate you. When they told me you'd died, I – I—"

"Do you remember Myers?"

She nodded.

"They shot him first. He was planning to get married, did you know that?"

"Jack—"

"And Laidley? Remember him? His wife was pregnant."

"Jack, stop!"

"I don't think you ever got to meet Anderson. It was his first mission." He held her by the wrists, his grip tight. "They all died. They were the lucky ones."

She blinked, trying to keep her tears from falling. "Jack, I – I'm glad you're not dead."

He sneered. "No, that would have spoiled your boyfriend's fun."

"What? Jack, what are you talking about?" A horrible suspicion formed in her mind, but she instantly rejected it. He wouldn't have—

His grip tightened, and she gasped at the sudden pain. "Or did you really marry him?"

"Jack, what happened to you?"

There was a knock at the door, and Larisa spoke. "They're on their way back inside."

Irina stood. "Come with me. It's better if Sydney doesn't see you—"

"You are not keeping me away from my daughter!"

"—until I've had a chance to explain this to her." She shook her head. "Jack, I would never keep Sydney away from you."

She moved past him and headed for her bedroom, passing her mother on the way. Larisa looked concerned, and Irina gave her a weak smile. Jack entered the bedroom just behind her, and closed the door.

"I don't think your mother likes me," he said.

"I can't imagine why not." She got dressed quickly, strangely uncomfortable in front of her husband.

"What – What should I call her?"

"Her name's Larisa." Irina looked at Jack. "The family calls her Lara."

"Lara?"

She smiled briefly, then looked away. Would he care that she had chosen the name Laura for her mother? Probably not. He hated her; that much was obvious, and Irina didn't know how to fix this.

"Wait here," she said, then left the room.

* * *

Jack watched the door click shut, then sat on the bed to wait. He looked around the small room, his gaze falling on a faded album on the bedside table. He opened it and couldn't contain his gasp of surprise when he saw the contents: photos of him, of Sydney, of them as a family. Their wedding photo was in there too, and Jack carefully traced the outline of Irina's face.

He thought of other photos, shown to him in a cold interrogation room, and slammed the album closed.

She wasn't Laura; he needed to keep reminding himself of that.

Suddenly there were footsteps outside the room, the door flew open, and Sydney stood in the doorway, staring at him wide-eyed. "Daddy?"

"Hello, sweetheart."

"Daddy!" She ran across the room and threw herself into his arms. "Daddy! You're back!"

Over the last few months, Jack had despaired of ever seeing his daughter again. He held her close. He saw movement in his peripheral vision and looked up; Irina was standing in the doorway, holding the baby he'd seen earlier.

She hesitated a moment before stepping into the room. "Jack, there's something else—"

He didn't want to hear her tell him she'd had Cuvee's child. "Later."

"Daddy, where've you been?" Sydney looked up at him, her face alight with joy. "Uncle Arvin told Mommy you died!"

"Arvin?" He glanced at Irina, who was looking pale again.

She nodded. "Jack, he told me you'd been – he said he'd been the one to identify your body. He suggested a closed casket. I never saw – I didn't even question him."

Jack's mind spun with the possibilities. Either Irina was lying to him again, or Arvin had been involved in his imprisonment somehow. Neither option was one he wanted to accept.

"Are you going to come live with us, Daddy?"

That hadn't been part of the plan, Jack thought. The plan had involved his wife's death, and a quick escape. He hadn't realized he'd be unable to kill her. "I – I'm not sure, sweetheart."

Sydney climbed onto his lap. "You have to. And then Mommy won't have to visit Uncle Gerard anymore."

"Uncle Gerard?" Jack's blood felt like ice in his veins.

"Sydney, take your sister back to Babushka."

"But, Mommy—"

"Sydney Anne Bristow—"

Sydney meekly slid off Jack's lip and carefully took the baby from Irina, then left the room. Irina stepped towards Jack.

"Uncle Gerard?" he repeated.

"Jack, I thought you were dead—"

His hands were around her neck again. "Do you know where I was while you were fucking Uncle Gerard?"

"Jack—"

"I was sitting in a prison cell, listening to stories about how the wife I adored was nothing more than a whore for her country."

"Jack, no—"

"I didn't believe it at first. 'Not Laura,' I said. 'Laura loves me.' And then they brought photos and videos and I heard him describe your body in perfect detail."

Irina looked as if she'd been struck. "He knew? He knew you were alive? All this time?"

"Don't pretend you didn't either. Don't pretend this wasn't all your idea." His cheek burned as she slapped him.

"No!" And then she started to cry, collapsing against him, clinging to him. "I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

He wanted to believe her, but he was afraid. Reluctantly, he removed his hands from her neck and slipped them around her waist. "And if you had known?"

She looked up at him, and he was surprised to see betrayal etched in her features. "I would have come for you."

"You really didn't know?"

"I'm going to kill Gerard. That bastard!" She closed her eyes. "I trusted him."

Jack brushed her tears away with his thumb. "No, I'm going to kill him."

"We'll do it together then. It will serve him right." She smiled slightly. "Let him see he lost."

He was kissing her again, and just like that Cuvee was the last thing on his mind.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, and he felt himself coming undone. It didn't matter, nothing mattered. He slid a hand under the edge of her shirt; her skin was as soft as he remembered.

"Mama was worried you were going to kill each other," someone commented from the doorway.

"Go away, Katya," Irina murmured between kisses.

Katya leaned against the doorframe, her expression a mixture of amusement and concern. "So you're Jack Bristow."

"Katya." Jack released Irina.

"I'm curious, Jack, which of us did you follow here? Me or Elena?"

"Elena."

"Hmm." Katya's gaze raked Jack from head to toe, then she turned to address her sister. "Quite frankly, Irishka, I'm not sure what you see in him."

Jack frowned.

"Oh, he's very handsome without the beard," Irina said. When Jack looked at her, she was smiling, and he reached for her hand without thinking.

Katya rolled her eyes. "Well, whatever the case may be, your firstborn is itching to see her father, and your youngest is hungry."

"Come, Jack, I want you to meet Nadia."

"Nadia?"

"Your other daughter." Irina's smile brightened. "She's three months old—"

"My daughter." Jack let go of Irina's hand. "How can you be sure she's mine?"

Her smile faded. Katya, he noticed, had quietly disappeared. "Of course she's yours. I found out I was pregnant with her shortly after – after your funeral."

"That means nothing." Cuvee's words were fresh in his mind.

"What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I know you weren't faithful. You don't have to pretend anymore."

"Jack, I was always faithful—"

"Except for that small matter about you being a KGB spy and lying to me every day of our life together."

"When would have been a good time to tell you the truth?"

"Any time before my team got ambushed in North Korea." He paused, struck by something that had only just occurred to him. "Did you tell them about the North Korea mission?"

She shook her head. "Why are you so quick to condemn me?"

"Can you honestly blame me?"

She swiped irritably at her eyes, but couldn't prevent the tears from escaping. "I never slept with anyone else when I was with you, Jack. Nadia is yours. I don't know how to make you believe that."

Then she turned and walked out of the room, and Jack was left feeling oddly as if he was the one in the wrong.

* * *

Irina ignored the curious gazes of her mother and her sisters as she picked up Nadia and retreated to a corner of the kitchen to feed her. She didn't look up as Jack entered a moment later, instead keeping her attention on the baby suckling contentedly at her breast.

_I'm sorry, Nadezhda. I tried, and I'll keep trying._

Nadia's tiny fingers curled around Irina's thumb, the action bringing a smile to Irina's face.

"My beautiful girl," she cooed softly. "Mama loves you."

Finally the temptation to look up was too hard to resist. Jack was at the table, his posture giving away how uncomfortable he was, but he was smiling broadly at Sydney, who was chattering on about school and the dacha and Piotr Oblonksy.

The other three Derevko women were watching Jack as if they expected him to attack at any moment. Irina didn't have to look very hard to spot the weapons her family members were carrying. A gun at the small of Mama's back. A knife strapped to Elena's forearm. Katya sat on the kitchen counter, not even bothering to hide the knife she was playing with.

"You look good for a dead man," Katya said.

"Katenka." Larisa shook her head in warning. Katya sighed, then stood and dragged a chair over to where Irina was sitting.

"Are you okay?"

"My dead husband just showed up. Why wouldn't I be okay?"

Katya reached up to tuck Irina's hair behind her ears. "It's quite a shock."

Irina lowered her voice to a whisper. "He said Gerard had him. All those trips to Siberia . . . Why wouldn't Gerard tell me?"

Katya didn't answer immediately. "Gerard Cuvee is . . . a despicable man, Ira. He's been obsessed with you from the day he met you."

"What?"

"He doesn't love you, Rishka—"

"I know. I don't love him either." Irina closed her eyes, imagining Jack alone in a cell. Imagined Cuvee feeding him lie after lie. "I want to kill him, Katya. He deserves to suffer for what he did to Jack."

"And what about what he's done to you?"

"Me? He hasn't done anything to me."

"He kept your husband from you for almost a year. He's had an affair with you and seen other women on the side—"

"Katya—"

"And who knows what else—"

"That doesn't matter." She glanced at Jack, only to find him staring at her. His expression hardened and he looked away. Irina's eyes filled with tears and she turned back to her sister. "I can't lose Jack again, Katya. I can't."

"Give him time, Ira." Katya squeezed her hand. "His whole world's been turned upside down."

"He hates me."

Katya looked across the room, then smiled. "No, I don't think so."

"He's right; I should have told him the truth long ago."

"Irina Arkadyevna Derevkova, listen to me. You did what you thought was best, given the circumstances. What you thought was safe."

"And look what it got me."

Katya shook her head. "Your husband is alive, you have two beautiful daughters. Don't regret what could have been, Ira. You'll get nowhere."

Irina sat Nadia up and slowly rubbed her back. Katya held the burp cloth ready.

"Thanks," Irina said. Both women knew she didn't mean for the cloth.

Katya smiled and returned to the main table.

Irina lifted Nadia and kissed her. "Daddy loves you, too," she whispered. "He just doesn't know it yet."


	14. Chapter 8a

_That Love is all there is  
__Is all we know of Love_

-- Emily Dickinson

* * *

Jack couldn't sleep. Moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains, casting a tiny sliver of light across the floor. Jack turned on his side and shut his eyes, knowing he needed to be rested if he was going to be able to deal with four Derevkos in the morning.

The bed smelled of Irina, and before he knew what he was doing, he'd buried his face in the pillow and breathed in her scent. She had insisted he take the bed, and he'd been too tired to fight with her again. Now he could feel her all around him, and though he was still exhausted, sleep remained elusive.

He sat up and quietly slipped out of the bed. Maybe a glass of water would help, he thought as he headed for the kitchen.

On his way back to the bedroom, he glanced into the living room where Irina said she would be sleeping. She was on the narrow couch, her feet hanging over the edge, using her arms to cushion her head. Jack watched her for a moment, then crossed the room. Then he picked her up; she immediately curled into him, her face nuzzling his neck, and he wondered if this was such a good idea.

He returned to the bedroom and carefully put her on the bed. Then he sat down and just looked at her. Almost of its own accord, his hand reached out and gently caressed her face. In her sleep she smiled and mumbled something that sounded like 'Jack'.

He wanted to hate her, he wanted to be able to hurt her, but looking at her now, he couldn't. And he hated himself for his weakness.

He thought of how she'd looked earlier that evening, feeding the baby. He remembered when Sydney was that small and the way Irina would gaze down at her while she suckled. It was the same way she'd gazed at Nadia tonight.

Funny, Jack thought, it wasn't even that strange to think of her as Irina anymore.

He traced her bruised cheekbone; she murmured something else and turned her head away. His fingers brushed over the delicate skin of her throat, the red marks already faded, and felt her pulse quicken under his fingertips.

At dinner, she'd avoided looking at him, though her mother and sisters were openly curious, and somewhat hostile, he felt. He studied her interaction with Sydney, and realized there was no difference that he could see. And he wanted to believe that she had loved them, had loved him – but he couldn't get past the fact that they were in Russia and she'd lied to him from the beginning.

He wanted to believe Nadia was really his, too, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Irina in Cuvee's arms.

The smart thing to do would be to kill Irina now, then take Sydney and disappear. Instead, Jack's thumb skimmed her collarbone and he bent forward to kiss the hollow at the base of her throat.

He'd thought he was dead to desire; he'd been numb for so long, but she had always been able to stir his blood, just by a smile or a tilt of her head.

She cupped the back of his head, and he realized he'd woken her up. He started to pull back, but then met her gaze, and the hunger in her eyes surprised him. Her mouth crashed against his.

It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't mean anything.

Her body was familiar even after all the time apart. His hands skimmed across her skin in possession; she arched into his touch and he thought _yes, mine, you belong to me_.

She tugged at his shirt, pulling it up over his head and casting it aside. She covered his chest with kisses as she moved further down his body. With one hand she massaged his balls; with the other she ran her nails over his thigh.

It had been too long; he wasn't going to last.

"On your back," he said.

She rolled onto her back, spreading her legs as he settled between them. She was already wet, and she tilted her hips upwards as he slid inside her.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he murmured against her neck.

"Harder." She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper into her. "Harder, Jack."

"Laura, oh, God, Laura!" He shuddered as he emptied himself inside her, then stilled, completely spent.

She smoothed her hands over his back.

"You didn't come."

"It's okay." Her eyes were slightly teary and her smile was weak.

Jack slid down the bed, trailing a path of kisses from her neck to her belly button.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." He gently pushed her thighs further apart.

She whimpered as his mouth made contact with her swollen flesh; he teased her with his tongue, deliberately slowing his movements to increase her pleasure.

"Jack!" She wound her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, her hips bucking beneath him.

He could tease her like this for hours, and recalled one memorable night early in their relationship where he'd driven her past the point of begging.

"Jack, please—" There was a catch in her voice that told him she was close, so he increased his movements, sucking harder, lightly nipping her with his teeth, and slid a finger inside her.

"Please, I can't—" Her orgasm hit hard; Jack continued kissing her as she rode it out.

When she stilled, he slid up the bed again and spooned behind her. Pressing one last kiss to the back of her neck, he whispered, "Love you, Laura," then let sleep claim him.

* * *

Irina squeezed her eyes shut to keep her tears from falling. She bit her lip, lying very still, and only when she heard Jack's breathing even out, did she finally let herself weep.

He'd called her Laura.

He'd called her Laura and said he loved her.

He was going to hate her in the morning. She exhaled softly, her breath shaky. No, he already hated her. He was going to hate her _more_.

Why had he brought her to the bed? Had he even been properly awake? She shouldn't have let this happen, she thought bitterly. She should have left the bed as soon as she'd woken up.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew that if she could go back in time, she'd let things play out the same way.

She'd missed him, missed the feel of his skin against hers, the way he kissed her, the way he touched her as if she was his whole world. She'd even missed the simplicity of just lying in his arms.

There was a part of her that wanted to believe she could fix this, could fix them, but there was another part that knew that was impossible. Even if Jack could get past the fact that she'd lied about who she was, there was still the matter of her affair with Cuvee.

_I thought you were dead_, her heart protested.

_You believed what you were told. You never saw the body._ The voice of her conscience sounded like Jack.

"I'm sorry." Jack's arm was draped across her belly, and she covered his hand with hers. "I never wanted this for you."

He didn't respond.

This could be the last time she would lie like this with him, she thought. Probably it was the last time they would make love.

She told herself it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was alive. Somehow, she would convince him that he was Nadia's father. She would kill Cuvee and then—

She didn't know what would happen after that. She couldn't think beyond the next few days. On Monday she was expected back in Moscow; what was she going to do with Jack then? He was safe here at the dacha, but if he was seen with her in Moscow . . .

Jack stirred, pulling her closer to him. She felt pain slice through her like a sharp knife. Yes, he was alive, but he wasn't hers anymore.

Even more depressing was the thought that he may never have been hers to begin with.


	15. Chapter 8b

She dozed, but couldn't sleep properly, and at around six a.m. her internal clock woke her. Regretfully, she slipped out of bed and quickly dressed, then went to check on Nadia. At the door, she glanced back at Jack, who was still asleep. Unable to resist, she tiptoed back to the bed and pressed a final kiss to his forehead.

"Ia tebya lyublyu," she whispered.

Nadia was already awake and sucking on the ear of a stuffed rabbit. "Silly girl," Irina said, "why didn't you call Mama?"

She lifted Nadia out of the crib and changed her diaper, then carried her into the kitchen, where she was surprised to find both Katya and Larisa.

"I thought you were going to sleep on the couch?" Katya said.

Irina pulled out a chair and began to feed Nadia. "Good morning to you too."

Larisa shook her head, and poured a cup of tea for Irina. "What are you going to do with that man, milochka?"

Irina sighed. "I don't know."

"He's dangerous." Larisa stood behind Irina and began braiding her hair, the way she'd done when Irina was a little girl. "I don't trust him."

"Mama, I – He's my husband."

"I thought he was just a mark." Katya met Irina's gaze in a challenge.

"He wants you dead." Larisa's hands stilled.

"It'll be okay, Mama."

"He's been gone for a long time, Irishka. People change. What if your Jack doesn't exist anymore?"

"I can't lose him again." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"What about Gerard?" Katya said the name with distaste. "He's going to expect you back in his bed when you return to Moscow."

"Gerard's a dead man the next time I see him."

Katya's mouth twitched in a smile. "Well, Lena will be glad you've seen the light."

"Katya, please—"

"Enough." Larisa finished Irina's braid then sat down again. "Gerard Cuvee will be dealt with. But first we need to decide what we're going to do about Jack."

"Don't you think Jack might want a say in all of this?" Elena spoke from the doorway.

"If Jack had his way, your sister would be dead by now."

"Mama, don't." Irina breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. "I – I just don't know."

"If Jack was going to kill her," Elena said, "he could have done it at any point during the night."

"I think Jack was busy with other things during the night." Katya winked at Irina.

Irina stood, cradling Nadia against her chest, and left the kitchen. She didn't want to deal with her family right now, and somehow found herself back in the bedroom. Jack was still asleep. Irina eased herself onto the bed next to him, and resumed feeding Nadia.

When Nadia started to fuss, she began humming a lullaby, and when Nadia had settled again, she glanced at Jack and saw he was awake.

"You used to do that with Sydney," he said.

"Yes."

He sat up, and looked at the baby. "She's – uh, small."

"She's only three months old."

Jack nodded. "Sydney was bigger, wasn't she?"

"A little, yeah." Irina smiled. "It's hard to believe she's already seven, isn't it?"

"How is she handling everything?"

"It was rough in the beginning, but she's doing okay now. She – she took the news of your death very badly, and then the move here – but she smiles more these days." Irina wasn't just speaking about Sydney now. "She's happy – no, ecstatic – to have you back."

He was quiet for a long time. Irina finished feeding Nadia, and sat her up to burp her. She was conscious of Jack's stare, but didn't comment.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'm okay."

"You said – yesterday – you said Arvin told you about my – that I'd died. What did he say?"

"That the team had been ambushed, tortured to death." She looked at him then to reassure herself of his presence. "He told me it was better if I didn't see you. He said he'd identified the bodies."

"That doesn't make sense."

"About as much sense as your wife being KGB?" She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.

He stared at her, stricken. "Irina, last night—"

"I know. It won't happen again."

"That's not—"

"Daddy, you're still here!" Sydney flung the door open and skipped over to the bed. She scrambled onto her father's lap and peppered his face with kisses.

"Yeah, I'm still here." Jack hugged her, and Irina felt her eyes fill with tears.

"You're not going to go away again, are you, Daddy? Promise you won't."

He looked defiantly at Irina. "I promise."

Sydney threw her arms around his neck. "Did you hear, Mommy? He promised!"

"Yes, sweetheart. I heard."

"Is he coming back to Moscow with us, Mommy?" She swiveled around on Jack's lap and leaned her back against his chest. "Will he live with us in Babushka's house?"

Irina tried to imagine Jack living in the tiny apartment with her mother, herself, Katya, Elena and two children.

"Sweetheart," Jack asked, "what are you doing up so early?"

"Everyone else is awake," she said, as if that explained everything.

"I'm going to go help Babushka cook breakfast," Irina said. She slid off the bed and held Nadia out to Jack, but addressed Sydney. "Will you and Daddy watch Nadia for me?"

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Sydney spoke first. "Yes, Mommy!"

"Thank you."

Jack took Nadia, his expression less than pleased, but settled her next to him on the mattress. Irina left the room smiling.

* * *

"Were you really dead, Daddy?"

Jack shook his head. "No. I just couldn't come back to you until now."

Sydney flopped onto her stomach and kissed Nadia's cheeks. "Isn't she pretty, Daddy? Mommy says her name means hope, because she was the last thing you gave us before you died. I mean, before you went away."

Jack studied Nadia again, desperately searching for some sign that he was indeed her father. But he found none. On the bright side, he couldn't see any hint of Cuvee in her features either, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.

She was, after all, only three months old.

"Sydney, can you tell me about Uncle Gerard?" He almost choked on the name.

Sydney grimaced. "I don't like him."

"Why is that?" If Cuvee had touched his child, he'd—

"'Cause he – 'cause he's Mommy's boyfriend." Sydney's eyes widened. "Daddy, are you mad at Mommy 'cause she had a boyfriend?"

"Sydney—"

"'Cause I bet Mommy will tell him he can't be her boyfriend anymore 'cause you're back now."

"Sydney, sweetheart, it's complicated. If Mommy loves him—"

Sydney sat up. "No, she doesn't, Daddy. I promise. Mommy says you're the best man and that she doesn't talk about you 'cause it makes her sad."

"She said that?"

Sydney nodded. "So see? Now we can live together again. You and Mommy and me and Nadia."

Nadia. Jack looked at the baby again. She was staring up at him in fascination. "Sweetheart, I think Nadia's real Daddy might not like that."

"But you're Nadia's Daddy. Mommy said so."

Hope bloomed within him; he wanted so badly to believe. He took Nadia's tiny hand in his, and when she curled her fingers around his index finger, he smiled.

"Daddy, if you weren't dead, then where were you?"

Jack jerked his hand away from Nadia, who started to cry. "I think – I think she wants her mother."

Sydney hopped off the bed and held out her arms for her sister. Even as Jack handed the baby over, he wondered if Sydney was allowed to carry her. But Sydney looked completely comfortable holding Nadia, and she walked slowly out the room.

Jack rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

_Sydney's the only thing that's real. Everything else is a lie_.

He held onto that truth, even as he recalled making love with Irina the previous night, even as he heard her tell him he was Nadia's father.

He couldn't get past Cuvee's words.


	16. Chapter 9A

_Everything that is done in the world is done by hope. _– Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

Jack walked into the kitchen and found Larisa sitting at the table, chopping vegetables. No one else was in sight, and he found himself wishing Irina was there. Larisa glanced up when he entered, then immediately turned her attention back to the carrots on the chopping board.

Jack shifted from foot to foot. "Uh, hi," he began in Russian.

"I can speak English," Larisa said without looking up.

"Oh. Okay. Uh, I was looking for something to drink."

Larisa gestured with the knife to a small refrigerator in one corner of the room. "There's water in there. Glasses are above the sink."

Jack quietly crossed the room and took a glass from the cupboard above the sink. He half-turned to face the table. "Do you want some?"

She paused in her chopping. "Thank you. No."

"Okay." Jack opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water. "Uh, where's Sydney?"

"Outside with Katya."

Jack peered out the window, but saw nothing. "What about Irina?"

"She and Elena went out."

He nodded. "So, uh, you're Irina's mother?"

"Yes."

Jack didn't know what else to say to her. Just then a baby's cry broke the silence, and Larisa looked at him expectantly.

"You should probably see what's wrong," Jack said, and a moment later the knife Larisa had been using whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in the wall next to his head.

"I'm cooking."

Jack stared at her, then left the room without another word. Nadia's face was red and scrunched up; she was not happy. Jack carefully picked her up and checked her diaper. Despite the gap of time since he'd last done this, the actions came to him naturally, and Nadia's cries became slight whimpers as he changed her diaper. Then he rocked her in his arms until she quieted.

"I wish you were mine." He ran his finger down the length of her face. He'd always wanted more children with Irina, but they'd kept putting it off, waiting for a better time.

Three months old. Jack counted backwards from May; she would have been conceived in August the previous year.

Was Irina telling the truth?

He turned around to find her watching him from the doorway. "You're back.."

"Is everything okay?" She stepped into the room.

"She needed to be changed." Feeling slightly guilty, he held her out to Irina. "It's been a while since I've done this."

She smiled. "You've done fine."

"She looks like a little doll."

Irina kissed Nadia and Jack suppressed the urge to take them both into his arms. He forced himself to look away.

"She's a good baby," Irina said. "I hardly have any trouble with her."

"Sydney seems to be enjoying being a big sister."

"She adores Nadia. The first time she saw her – in the hospital – she sat so still when I let her hold Nadia. I don't think she's ever been that still in her life!"

Jack smiled; the first time he'd held Sydney, he'd been afraid that he would hurt her.

He wondered who had been the one to cut Nadia's umbilical cord, who had been the first person to hold her. Imagining the child in Cuvee's arms left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

"I'm going to go for a walk," he said, and stepped past Irina to leave the room.

* * *

"Mama, why is there a knife in the wall?" Irina pulled the knife free and ran her fingers over the gouge it had left.

Larisa continued stirring the soup. "Oh, Jack needed a little persuasion before he would check on Nadia earlier."

"Persuasion?" Irina looked at the knife, noticed some small pieces of carrot on the blade, and then glanced at Larisa in horror. "Mama, tell me you didn't."

"Didn't what?"

"Did you throw this at him?"

Larisa held out a spoon, her free hand cupped beneath it. "Come taste this; does it need more salt?"

"Mama."

"Yes, I threw it at him."

"Mama, you can't just do things like that! What if you'd hurt him – what if you killed him?"

Larisa tasted the soup herself and shook her head, then reached for the salt. She sprinkled some in the soup, then stirred again. "Irina, are you forgetting who taught you how to throw knives?"

"You know what I mean—"

"Tell me, have I ever once missed my target?"

"That's not the point, Mama. You can't just throw knives at my husband!"

"I threw them at your father all the time."

Irina gave an exasperated sigh. "I'm not joking, Mama."

"And neither am I. Now, are you going to stand there and sulk or are you going to help me?"

Irina dropped the knife in the sink and began clearing the table. She moved the chopping board to the sink and threw the vegetable peels in the dustbin. "Anything else?" Her tone was slightly belligerent.

"Yes." Larisa put a lid on the pot and turned to face her. "When you went in the other room earlier, what did you see?"

"What?"

"Jack and Nadia."

"He was holding her. He changed her diaper. I think he was humming something."

"Hmm."

"Mama, I can't make him believe Nadia is his. I hope he will, but – I don't know. Everything is different now." Irina turned the faucet and let the sink fill with water. She squirted some soap on a rag and began to wash the dishes.

"Be careful, milochka." Larisa moved closer to Irina and touched her shoulder. "He's a dangerous man, and I don't trust him with you."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Go back to Moscow, forget Jack."

She shook her head. "I can't. I won't."

Larisa cupped Irina's cheek, turning her head so she could see her eyes. "Oh, Irina."

"Mama—"

Her sigh was heavy. "Maybe it would have been better if he had really died."

Irina jerked away from her mother. "No! Don't say that, don't ever say that!"

"You've been a shadow since you came back, do you know that? I will not let this man destroy you!"

Irina watched the play of emotions on her mother's face. She wanted to hug her, but she was still too angry. "You'd better check the soup," she said, and left the kitchen.


	17. Chapter 9b

"Let me help you with that."

Jack glanced to the door and saw Irina leaning against the doorframe. He hesitated for a moment, then looked back to his reflection in the mirror.

Irina came closer. "It'll be easier if you let me do it."

He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to let her take a blade to his throat, but she was right. This would be easier if she did it. He finally decided Irina probably wouldn't kill him if Sydney was in the same house, and handed her the blade.

She stepped even closer, dipped the blade in the basin to rinse it, then slowly scraped it along the length of his jaw. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, and she had her left hand pressed against his chest to steady herself.

And Jack realized that this was a bad idea. He couldn't think when she was this close to him.

He didn't want to think. He didn't want her to stop. He wanted to just sit here and pretend.

Too soon, she said, "Okay, you're done."

"Thanks." His voice was gruff.

She rinsed the remaining cream from his face, then dabbed it dry with a towel. Jack didn't know when his hands had moved to her waist, or when she replaced the towel with her fingertips.

"Definitely an improvement," she said, her voice low. She brushed her cheek against his, then traced his lower lip with her thumb. "You want a haircut too?"

He'd trusted her to shave him; why not let her cut his hair? "Do you have scissors?"

She smiled. "I'll be right back."

When she left the bathroom, Jack glanced at himself in the mirror. He ran his fingers over the newly-shaven skin and imagined her touch. He told himself the tingle in his lips was just his imagination – but he still wished he'd kissed her while he had the chance.

Jack knelt next to the bathtub and turned the tap, then stuck his head underneath it. He saw a small unlabeled bottle on a ledge and was about to reach for it when Irina's arm snaked past him and grabbed it instead. She squirted some shampoo into the palm of her hand and massaged it into his hair.

Again, he thought, _this is a bad idea_.

At least the water was cold, though the warmth of Irina's body behind him and the pressure of her hands as she worked the shampoo through his hair was giving him very interesting ideas about what he'd like to do to her. Just when he thought he could no longer take it, she turned the tap off and toweled the excess water from his head.

"I think you missed your calling in life," he said.

"What? Shampoo girl at a hair salon?" She smiled and gestured to the stool she'd fetched from the kitchen.

He sat on the stool, and noticed that from this level he couldn't see his reflection in the mirror. Irina ran her fingers through his hair once more before she picked up the scissors.

"Have you cut hair before?" he asked.

"Katya let me cut her hair once." She began to snip, starting at the base of his neck. "I was, I don't know, Sydney's age, maybe. Mama was less than thrilled with the results."

Jack felt slightly nervous. "Do I want to know why?"

"She wanted us all to have long hair; Katya wanted short hair. I cut it a little too short for Mama's liking."

Jack closed his eyes; this felt nice. "So what happened?"

"Katya got a spanking, and Mama cut my hair as short as I had cut Katya's."

"I like your hair long."

She chuckled. "That was the last time I cut Katya's hair."

"Let me guess, Katya's the rebel of the family?"

She was quiet for a while. "Katya's – she's the middle sister. She's always hated being compared to Elena; maybe that's why she tries so hard to be different."

"What about you?"

"I'm the baby." She moved in front of him to cut his fringe. "If they seem overprotective to you, it's only because they've been that way all my life."

"Is that why your mother threw a knife at me?"

Irina sighed, then brushed her fingers along the side of his face. "I'm sorry about that."

"Tell me more about your family?" He felt as if he was learning about her for the first time; which was true, in a way. She was his wife, but she was also a stranger.

"Papa died when I was very young; I don't really remember him. It's always been Mama, my sisters and me."

"Are your sisters married?"

Another pause. "Katya was, briefly."

"That picture of you, with the baby you said was your niece—"

"Don't."

"But—"

"We don't talk about her, Jack. Losing her broke Katya – I don't think she's ever gotten over it."

Jack caught Irina's hand and brought it to his mouth. Pressing a gentle kiss against her palm, he said, "Okay." Then, "I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

Jack cleared his throat, trying to dispel the melancholy mood in the room. "So, your mother seems like an interesting woman."

"She is."

"Is she always this scary?"

"Mama?" Irina laughed. "Mama's not scary. Well, not really. Okay, maybe sometimes."

"Has she ever thrown knives at you?"

"No. But she did teach me how to throw them."

Jack couldn't control the surprised gasp that left his throat. "Well, I'm glad you've never pulled that trick on me."

"Knives can be fun, Jack." She sounded amused.

"I'm wondering if I should have reconsidered letting you near me with a sharp object."

She laughed again; he'd missed hearing her laughter. "But I've yet to draw blood."

"I don't like that 'yet'."

She stepped away. "Okay, take a look."

He stood, then studied himself in the mirror. Not bad, he thought. He glanced at her; she was looking at him expectantly. His eyes widened and he turned to her with an expression of horror on his face. "What have you done?"

She bit her lip and lowered her head. "Jack, I—"

He couldn't keep in his laughter. "Got you."

She raised her head, her eyes flashing fire. "Bastard." There was no malice in her tone.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair. "Thank you. It's great."

She smiled then, and it was the most natural thing in the world for him to reach for her. "Liar," she said.

"No, really. I like it."

"It's an improvement, at least."

"What are you doing?" Sydney asked, and Jack and Irina stepped away from each other. They both looked at Sydney, who was gazing up at them curiously. She grinned. "Daddy, were you _kissing_?"

"Uh, Sydney—" he began.

"Babushka says dinner is ready." Her grin widened, and she turned and skipped back to the kitchen, singing, "Mommy and Daddy sitting in a tree . . ."

Jack turned back to Irina, who had started cleaning up. "I can do that."

"It's okay." She swept the hair into a pile on the floor, then looked up at Jack. "We need to talk. About Sydney, us – what happens after this, what we tell her."

"Yeah." Jack sighed. It was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

"After dinner." Irina's smile was forced. "Mama might come after us both with knives if we're late."

* * *

"Sydney, Mommy and Daddy have to talk," Irina explained to a pouting Sydney, who wanted her father to play with her. "Grown up stuff."

"I'm seven now; I'm a grown up too."

"Sweetheart, this is between Mommy and Daddy."

"Is Daddy still mad at you?"

Irina glanced at Jack, who looked down at the floor. "Uh, that's one of the things we have to talk about."

Sydney's lower lip trembled and she hugged her teddy bear to her chest. "But you were kissing! You made up."

Jack knelt in front of Sydney. "Sweetheart, Mommy and I have a lot to talk about. But I promise that tomorrow I'll be yours for the whole day. Okay?"

Sydney nodded. "Okay."

"Tell you what, why don't you draw a picture for me? I've really missed your pictures."

Her smile was genuine now. "Okay, Daddy."

Irina went to her bedroom, followed closely by Jack. It was the only place they were guaranteed any privacy. When they were both inside, she shut the door. Before she could turn around, Jack had her pressed up against the door, pinning her in place with his body.

"Jack, what—"

"I've been wanting to do this all day." One hand slipped under her shirt, the other moved her hair away from the back of her neck.

She'd told herself it wouldn't happen again, and at the time she'd meant it, but now that Jack's mouth was on her neck and his hand warm against her belly, it was hard to remember why sleeping with him was a bad idea. "We're supposed to be talking—" she tried.

"We are talking."

"Jack, I'm serious—"

His thumb traced circles around her belly button. "Please, Irina. I need you."

Irina. He'd called her Irina.

She was tempted – so tempted – to give in but there was something deeper that whispered, _don't, you can't_. Jack had only been back for a day; last night he'd wanted to kill her, he didn't trust her, he didn't love her, he didn't believe her about Nadia.

But—

"I dreamed about you," he continued. "Dreamed about touching you like this." His hand cupped her breast, squeezed. "Like this." His other hand slipped into her pants, his fingers teasing her.

"Jack, wait—"

"I dreamed about you touching me too." He turned her around. When she met his gaze, his eyes were dark with desire. "Will you touch me, sweetheart?"

_He hates you_.

So she did the only thing she could think of that would put distance between them. She said, "We need to talk about Gerard Cuvee."


	18. Chapter 10a

_We live by admiration, hope and love._ – William Wordsworth

* * *

"We need to talk about Gerard Cuvee."

Myriad emotions flashed across Jack's face. Pain, frustration, anger. Irina wasn't sure if he was angrier with her or with Cuvee, and wasn't so sure she wanted to know the answer.

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Well, then what would you like to talk about?"

He pressed his body against hers and lowered his lips to her neck. "This."

Irina closed her eyes, her own desire quickly giving way to annoyance. "Jack, this isn't helping."

His response was to cup her ass and grind his hips against hers. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away.

"Tell me what happened to you?"

"I already have."

"Not all of it."

Jack's expression grew cold, and all the heat left his eyes. Irina began to wonder if she had made a mistake. "All of it? Do you want to know how I spent the first few days worrying about you and Sydney? Or how I felt when I learned my wife was nothing more than a whore?"

Irina felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room.

"Maybe you want to know about how your lover told me how willingly you went back to his bed? I'm sorry I didn't bring the pictures with me. The quality wasn't so great, but I suppose it's the content that matters."

"Jack—" She needed to lean against the door for support.

Jack's arms were braced either side of her head. He spoke quietly, but there was an edge to his tone that scared her. "I particularly liked the one of you in his office. You look much better out of the uniform than in it."

She was going to kill Cuvee, she thought. She'd had no idea he'd photographed them. Bastard.

"Then there was one of you – I don't know where – on your hands and knees, wearing nothing but high heels. And the one of you sucking his cock, that one was nice too." He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Maybe we should have taken more photos. Cuvee and I could have compared."

There was a loud crack as her hand made contact with his cheek. She blinked back tears and moved to the other side of the room, her hand stinging from the impact.

It was a mistake to turn her back on him. He tackled her from behind, propelling her onto the bed.

"You're a beautiful whore," he whispered. "I can't fault your performance."

"Bastard! Get off me!"

"No. I think I want what's mine. Right now."

"Jack. Get. Off. Me."

"Tell me, Irina," he drew out her name, "whose dick do you prefer? His or mine?"

Irina stopped struggling long enough for him to flip her over, then she lashed out at him, and kicked him in his stomach, not so hard as to injure him, but hard enough to push him off the bed. Then she quickly retrieved one of her knives from its hiding place under the mattress and straddled Jack, holding the blade to his crotch.

"Don't ever try that again."

She didn't recognize the man looking up at her, didn't recognize the emptiness in his eyes or the cold mask he wore as he gazed back at her. She got up slowly, sat on the edge of the bed, and started to cry.

After a while, Jack scrambled to his knees, and hesitantly put his arms around her waist. "I don't know what came over me."

She said nothing.

"Are you – are you in love with him?"

Irina ran her fingers through his hair, thinking about how easy they had been with one another earlier, and how quickly things had turned ugly. She sighed. "No, Jack. I don't love him."

"Then why--?"

She sighed again and carefully considered her next words. "If anyone suspected that you were more than just a mark, I – I had to convince people that I didn't love you, that I was glad the assignment was over. The alternative would have been – I don't know. I don't want to think about what would have happened if they didn't believe me."

Jack looked up at her. "I need to know . . ."

It was hard to speak without crying again. "Jack, _of course_ I love you. I – when Arvin told me you'd died, I didn't know what to do."

"Cuvee said—"

"Don't believe what he told you." She brushed his tears away with her thumbs. "Ask me anything, Jack. I won't lie to you."

"The other men—"

"What other men?" She frowned.

"The affairs."

"Jack, I never had any affairs. There was only you."

He looked at her for a long time. "So Nadia--?"

"Is yours."

"Can we fix us?"

She slid to the floor so that she was kneeling next to him. "Do you want to?"

"Yes."

She smiled in relief, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I just – I hate the thought of anyone else – him – touching you."

"I'm yours, Jack."

He brushed her hair out of her face, his touch gentle. "Then will you let me take what's mine?"

She met his gaze, still uncertain, but there was none of the earlier coldness in his expression. Instead, she saw shame, and regret. In response, she pressed her mouth to his, her kiss soft. Her lips parted in invitation and he deepened the kiss.

When he broke away, he said, "I love you."

Tears welled up in her eyes and she quickly blinked them away.

"I'd convinced myself I didn't – but I do."

"We'll get through this," she said.

The door flew open and Sydney burst into the room. "Here's your picture, Daddy!"

She waved a piece of paper as she ran to him. Katya entered a moment later and caught Sydney's arm. "Sorry, Ira." To Sydney, she said, "Milochka, what did I tell you?"

"You said I could show Daddy my picture."

"When?"

Sydney guiltily looked at the floor. "When they finished talking."

"It's okay," Jack said, and took the page from Sydney. She'd drawn four figures: Jack, Irina, herself and Nadia. Irina saw the smile playing on Jack's face, and was glad for the interruption.

"Do you like it, Daddy?"

"It's beautiful, sweetheart."

Sydney beamed. Katya steered her towards the door. "Okay, let's leave Mommy and Daddy."

When they were gone, Irina drew her knees to her chest and leaned against the side of the bed. Jack mirrored her position, and they sat in silence for a while.

"Sydney picked up Russian pretty quickly," he said.

"She's a smart girl."

"You still use English with her." He looked at her. "And Nadia."

"They're half-American." She hadn't consciously made the decision, but when Larisa pointed out what she was doing, she had decided to continue. She had no intention of hiding their heritage from them.

"A Soviet agent with American children. You must be popular in the KGB."

"People don't know that you're Nadia's father."

He fell silent again. Irina inched closer to him and put her hand on his thigh.

"We need to decide what we're going to do next."

He nodded. "Yes."

She looked at him and gave a crooked smile. "Any ideas?"


	19. Chapter 10B

Elena was leaning against the kitchen counter when Jack entered the room. He half-smiled at her, then looked around uncomfortably. The kettle's whistle broke the silence.

"Tea?" Elena asked.

"Sure. Thanks."

He sat at the table and watched Elena take another cup from the cupboard and put a teabag in it. She poured hot water in the cup, then placed it in front of Jack before fetching a bottle of milk from the refrigerator.

She sat opposite him and smiled warmly. "I'm glad I have a chance to talk to you."

He was instantly on guard.

"There are two things I think you need to know, Jack." She took a sip of tea before continuing. "The first is this: if you hurt my sister, I will kill you."

She said it so matter-of-fact, and there was a look in her eyes that he hadn't seen before. He suddenly wondered what he didn't know about her.

"And the second?"

"I don't think Irina knows just how deeply Gerard Cuvee's obsession with her runs. Whatever the two of you have decided to do, Gerard is not just going to let her go."

"Gerard Cuvee is not going to be a problem for long."

Elena tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I hope you're right."

He nodded; he and Irina had talked late into the night and finally agreed on a plan. He wasn't completely happy with it, but it was the quickest and easiest way of getting rid of Cuvee.

"Tell me, Jack, when you were in prison, what did Gerard want from you?"

"He—" Jack abruptly trailed off; Cuvee had not asked for any CIA secrets, not once. From the beginning, all he'd spoken about was Irina.

Elena leaned forward. "Gerard is a dangerous man, Jack. Be careful, for Irina's sake as well as your own."

"We'll be careful."

He felt uncomfortable under Elena's gaze; her smile was more than a little unnerving. "Good," she said.

Irina entered the room carrying Nadia. Jack immediately held out his arms, aware that this was the first time he had done so of his own volition. Irina's smile was reward enough, and she placed Nadia in his arms.

"Tea, Irochka?" Elena asked.

"Yes, please." She sat next to Jack, whose complete attention was focused on Nadia.

He brushed his thumb over her cheek. "Morning, sweetheart."

Nadia gurgled in response.

"I'll be leaving just after lunch," Elena said to Irina. "Is there anything you need me to take back, or to prepare in Moscow?"

Jack, still focused on Nadia, only half-paid attention to the sisters' conversation.

"Can you arrange a hotel room for Jack? It's too risky for him to stay with us. And he'll need some clothes, too."

"Money, passports?"

"Yes, we'll need those as soon as possible."

It was surprising how quickly the love came, Jack thought as he looked at Nadia. He raised her to his face so he could kiss her.

He realized the conversation had stopped and both sisters were looking at him; Elena's expression was unreadable, but Irina was—

Glowing. There was no other word for it. He smiled at her, then without thinking, reached up to caress her cheek.

She covered her hand with his and smiled.

* * *

"Look, Daddy. See the baby birds?" Sydney's attention was completely focused on the bird's nest. She leaned closer. "They're so small." 

"Yeah."

"Can we take them with us?"

"Sweetheart, they have to stay here."

"Why?"

"Because – well, it's much nicer here than in the city. And this is their home."

Sydney sighed, then looked up at Jack. "I guess."

He smiled then picked her up. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "You've grown so big," Jack said. "Were you always this tall?"

"I'm seven now," she said seriously. "I'm big."

"Yes."

"Babushka says I look just like Mommy." She grinned shyly. "Do you think I'll still look like Mommy when I'm a grown up?"

Jack hoped not; he was already less than pleased that Sydney had admirers. Granted, Piotr Oblonsky was barely eight years old, but he had decided long ago that no one would ever be good enough for his little girl. Irina had teased him about it once, and laughingly asked just how he was planning to keep the boys away from Sydney.

Now he had two little girls; if they were even half as beautiful as their mother, he was going to be in for trouble.

Sydney gave his shoulder a light punch. "Daddy! You're not listening to me!"

He kissed her cheek "Sorry, sweetheart. I was just thinking about how much I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I don't want you to go away again."

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Are you still mad at Mommy?"

Jack put Sydney down, then sat on the ground and patted the grass beside him. "Come here."

Obediently, Sydney sat.

"I love Mommy very much."

"Are you going to get divorced?"

He looked at her in surprise; where had she come up with that idea? "Sweetheart, no."

"Promise?"

He nodded. "I promise."

* * *

Irina watched Katya with Nadia. There was an expression on her sister's face that Irina hadn't seen in years, not since Anya had died. Katya noticed Irina's gaze, looked up and smiled. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

Irina shrugged. "I was just thinking."

"Don't think too hard; you might hurt yourself."

"Funny."

"So I've been told." Katya shifted Nadia's position slightly. "So, you and Jack."

"What about me and Jack?"

"Is all forgiven and forgotten?"

Irina looked away. "No. But we're working on it."

"I'm glad he came back." Katya's words were so surprising that Irina wasn't sure she'd heard correctly. "For your sake."

"Me too." Irina smiled.

"He seems nicer than Gerard, at any rate."

Her smile was replaced by a scowl. Katya had always had a knack for knowing what not to say, and saying it anyway. Katya laughed, then handed Nadia over.

"Here, I think she's hungry."

"Katya, whatever you do, don't talk about him when Jack's around, okay?"

Katya's eyes twinkled mischievously. "If you need any help dealing with Gerard, let me know."

Irina reflected on the conversation the previous night, and shook her head. "I think Jack and I can handle it."

"Spoilsport," Katya said with a laugh.

"Oh, now that I think of it—"

Katya leaned forward expectantly.

"—we do need a babysitter."

"Tease."

Irina laughed.


	20. Chapter 11a

_Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing what to do is the worst kind of suffering._ – Paulo Coelho

Irina had barely set foot inside the building when Gerard Cuvee approached her. Standing closer to her than she was comfortable with, he said, "Look at you, Ira. You're even more beautiful than the last time I saw you."

"I think time has given you amnesia, Gerard."

His gaze traveled her body, lingering on her chest before returning to her face. "I've missed you."

She tilted her head. "Really? From what I've heard, you've hardly been lonely."

He laughed. "Yes, well . . ."

Irina smiled and tried to step past him. He caught her elbow and she resisted the impulse to jab it into his stomach. It was hard to imagine there had ever been a time when she enjoyed his touch.

"Come to my office," he said. "I need to fill you in on your new assignment."

"New assignment?" She looked up sharply. "I thought I was still in the research department."

"You are, but Khasinau wants you to narrow your field of research."

Irina accompanied him to his office, steeling herself for the advances he was sure to make once they were out of sight of other people.

She wasn't wrong. The door had barely shut behind them when his hands were on her chest, fumbling with her buttons. "Gerard, wait—"

"It's been three months."

She pushed him away. "Yes. Three months is a long time."

He reached for her again, and she batted his hands away. "Tell me about this new assignment."

"Later. First we—"

"Now, Gerard." Her tone was firm, and she saw Cuvee's slow realization that she was serious.

His smile faded. "Something wrong, Irina?"

She forced herself to smile in what she hoped was a conciliatory manner, then slowly raked her fingers through Cuvee's hair. "Nothing's wrong."

"Was it a lonely three months, Ira?" He ran his hands over her back as he pulled her closer to him. "Did you miss me?"

Right now, Jack was sitting in his hotel room, probably thinking about this very thing, and hating it. Irina closed her eyes and leaned into Cuvee. "Yes, I've been lonely. I've been thinking about what I'd like to do to you."

"Hmm. I'm looking forward to it."

Abruptly, she stepped away from him. "But anticipation is half the fun. You're not allowed to touch me until tonight."

His eyes darkened with desire. "You're wicked."

She winked, then crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs. "This assignment?"

"Tell me more about tonight?"

"It's going to be unforgettable, I can guarantee that much."

"My little minx." He moved towards her.

She held up her hand to stop him. "No touching."

Cuvee looked at her for a long time, then sat opposite her. "Okay, I'll play your game."

She smiled, this time genuinely.

Cuvee handed her a folder. "Khasinau wants you working on translating the works of this man – have you ever heard the name Rambaldi?"

Irina shook her head.

"He was an Italian inventor – I don't know why the Kremlin is suddenly interested in him, and I don't really care – but Khasinau specifically requested you for this."

Irina opened the folder and skimmed the typed instructions. She turned the page and read through the list of documents they wanted her to work on. "Okay. It seems clear enough."

"It's good to have you back, Irina."

Irina closed the file and stood. She turned to go.

"Don't I even get a kiss?"

"That's touching, Gerard."

"I've been thinking about your kiss for three months."

She glanced at him over her shoulder and ran her fingers over her lips. "Then one more day won't matter. See you tonight."

He cursed loudly as she left the room; she was smiling. Tonight would be unforgettable, she thought. Too bad Cuvee wouldn't enjoy it as much as she would.

* * *

Irina had been right; Jack was indeed lying on the bed in his hotel, torturing himself with the image of Irina in Cuvee's arms. He stared up at the ceiling and tried not to picture Irina bent over Cuvee's desk, or on her knees in front of him, or—

It was difficult, especially since he'd already been provided with visuals before.

"I love you," Irina had said as they'd lain together on Saturday night. "I know my trust isn't worth much right now, but this will work—"

And he'd said, "I do trust you."

It was easy to trust her when she was in his arms, less so when she was in the heart of enemy territory.

Think about other things, he told himself.

For all he knew, right now Irina could be telling Cuvee exactly where he was, telling him to take Jack back to prison, or to kill him and be done with it.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. No, he would give her the benefit of the doubt. She loved him.

He wanted to see Sydney, but they'd all agreed it was too dangerous. The plan was for Sydney to stay home from school with Larisa; they couldn't take the risk that she might tell her friends her father had come back from the dead.

When Katya returned from work, she would take Nadia and Sydney and leave the country. They would try to make it to Finland by morning. In a few days, Irina and Jack intended to meet up with them. Katya would return to Russia, and Jack and Irina would disappear with the girls.

Thinking about it now, there were so many things that could go wrong, starting with the idea that Irina might have no intention whatsoever of actually going through with the plan.

There was a knock at the door, and Jack felt all the breath sucked from him. She'd betrayed him again.

"Dammit, open the door before someone sees me!"

Elena.

Jack quickly unlocked the door to let her in. "Is something wrong?"

She sighed, shook her head, then sat down. "I came to check on you."

"I don't need a babysitter." He scowled.

"I was also asked to bring you this." She handed him an envelope. "Irina saw Gerard this morning. She says not to worry; everything's going according to plan."

Jack felt as though a weight had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. "She's okay?"

"She's fine."

Elena stood. "I probably won't see you again, so – be careful. And look after my sister."

He nodded.

"Good luck."

When she had left, Jack opened the envelope. There was a single sheet of paper inside. _I love you_ Irina had written. Jack traced the words with his fingers, then folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

Everything was going to be okay.


	21. Chapter 11b

"You can't greet him in that."

Irina glanced down at her outfit, then looked back at Jack. "Why not?"

"Because—" He steered her to the mirror. "Look at yourself. You look—"

"Like a whore." Her tone was flat.

"No. Well – Irina, you're my _wife_ and I don't want anyone else except me to see you in this."

She turned in his arms and lightly kissed his jaw, flicking her tongue over his skin to tease him. He groaned, and she pressed herself closer to him. She could feel his erection against her stomach. "You like what you see, Jack?"

He slid his hands down to cover her ass. "You tell me."

"Do you want to fuck me, Jack?" She tilted her head backwards to give him better access to her neck.

His response was to push her against the wall. He ran his hands over her bare thighs, his fingers teasingly slipping under the black lace at her crotch. "You're wet." His voice was hoarse.

"For you."

He removed his hand and traced her lips with his forefinger. "I think I'd like you to fuck me with your mouth."

She smiled, and her hands moved to his belt. "You might want to sit down for this."

She backed him towards the bed, then knelt in front of him. And then she lost herself in the taste of him, concentrating only on giving him pleasure, bringing him to the brink again and again and again. When he finally came, she kept him in her mouth until his body stilled, then she looked up at him and smiled again.

"Come here," he said. He pulled her onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her, then kissed her gently and for the longest time.

She wanted to stay like that, forever curled in his arms, but they were running out of time. "I'll wear something else," she said.

Jack held her for a moment longer, then released her. "I guess you should call him."

She took his hand. "It's almost over."

He went into the bathroom to clean up while she phoned Cuvee. When he answered, all she said was the name of the hotel and the room number before hanging up. Then she put one of Jack's shirts over her negligee and checked once more that she and Jack had everything they needed.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Irina picked up a long piece of black fabric and nodded for Jack to turn out the lights. She cracked the door open slightly, and smiled at Cuvee.

"Good evening, Gerard."

"Little minx, you've been driving me mad all day," he growled.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Irina!"

"Okay, but remember, we play by my rules tonight."

He nodded, clearly eager to get inside the room. Irina held up the blindfold, then tied it around his head before leading him inside. She guided him to a chair and sat him down, then handcuffed his wrists to the arm of the chair, and tied his ankles to the front legs.

When Jack flicked the lights back on, Irina saw Cuvee was smiling. "I like it when you're kinky," he said.

She bent her head to his ear and whispered, "Good to know. Tell me, do you like surprises?"

"You know I do."

"Good." She ripped the blindfold off.

Jack was standing directly in front of Cuvee. "I wish I could say it's good to see you again," he said, "but that would be a lie."

Cuvee stared at Jack open-mouthed, too stunned to do anything else.

"What's wrong, Gerard?" Irina moved around to stand next to Jack. "I thought you liked surprises."

"I'm impressed, Bristow. I didn't think you'd survive the trek from Siberia."

"I had strong motivation."

"Hmm, yes. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you welcomed Irina back into your bed. She is rather hard to resist, isn't she?" Cuvee smirked. "Did she tell you she was sorry? That she loved you? Did she beg you for forgiveness?"

Irina tensed, bracing herself for Jack's response. But he surprised her.

"She didn't need to beg. I forgave her anyway."

"Then you're an even bigger fool than I thought."

Jack punched Cuvee in the face. "I've been wanting to do that for so long."

"How long do you think it will take before she betrays you again?"

Jack hit him again. "I think you have something you need to say to my wife."

"Irina, I've been thinking all day about that talented mouth of yours—"

Another punch, this time from Irina. "How about something more along the lines of 'I'm sorry I told you your husband was dead?' Or 'I'm sorry I used you for the last few months?'"

Cuvee licked the blood from his lip and gave Irina his most lascivious look. "I don't recall you complaining at any time."

It was Jack's turn to hit Cuvee again. "Enough."

"You saw the pictures, Bristow."

Irina walked around and picked up one of the knives she'd laid out on the bed. Then she returned to Jack's side. Cuvee's gaze flickered to the knife, and she was pleased to see the momentary flash of fear in his eyes.

"I know you don't believe in God, Gerard, but I assume you've read some of the Bible." Irina tilted the knife so that light glinted off the blade. "Are you familiar with the punishment for taking that which doesn't belong to you?"

"You've always belonged to me, Ira. You just won't admit it."

Irina looked at Cuvee, her expression cold. Then she turned to Jack and kissed him. When she looked back at Cuvee, some of his smugness had vanished. "I was never yours, Gerard."

He looked at Jack. "I suppose she's convinced you she belongs to you."

"Irina's her own woman," Jack said calmly. His hand was at the small of Irina's back, a reassuring warmth. "She's not something to be owned."

Again, he had surprised her. This was not the Jack she had met over the weekend; this was the Jack she had married. "I gave myself to Jack the day I married him."

Cuvee laughed. "You were ordered to marry him!"

She shrugged. "Regardless of the circumstances, I'm his. I choose to be his."

"Then you're as much of a fool as he is."

"Jack is not a fool." She stepped towards him and trailed the blade of the knife the length of his arm. She stopped at his wrist. "In some countries, thieves lose a hand."

He stared at her defiantly.

She moved the knife to his crotch. "I think this would be a more fitting price."

"You stupid bitch! I never did anything you didn't want me to do!"

"Really? I didn't want you to keep Jack prisoner for months, but you did that."

"I'm curious, Cuvee," Jack said. "Why exactly did you keep me there? You never asked for any information."

Cuvee didn't respond. Irina trailed the knife up his chest, bringing it to a stop at his throat. "I believe my husband asked you a question."

Cuvee smiled. "Everyone needs a hobby, my little minx."

She slapped him, her palm stinging from the impact. "You bastard."

Cuvee's laugh turned into a scream when Irina drove the blade of the knife through his hand. She stepped backwards, trembling. "This was all a game to you?"

When Cuvee got his breathing under control, he said, "I see Larisa's taught you well."

Irina fetched another knife from the bed and held it over Cuvee's uninjured hand. "Were you in North Korea?"

His eyes darted to the knife. "Yes."

"When did you decide to kill the others and take Jack?"

He took too long to reply, so she drove the knife through his hand.

"Bitch!" he hissed. "I was there for a meeting – if you'd done your job and told us about the mission we wouldn't have been surprised!"

She looked at Jack, who was staring at her with an unreadable expression. She retrieved another knife. "Why was Arvin Sloane convinced Jack had been killed?"

Cuvee started laughing again. "Arvin Sloane was the person I was meeting." He looked at Jack. "You should really think twice about the people you let close to you. You want to know what your friend sold you for? A five-hundred-year-old prophecy!"

Irina stepped away from Cuvee, more concerned with Jack right now. She'd suspected Sloane had been involved somehow, but she had hoped she was wrong. "Jack?"

"I think I'd like to ask him some questions now." Jack's tone was devoid of any emotion. "May I borrow your knife?"

Irina handed it to him without saying a word, then stepped aside.


	22. Chapter 12a

_Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark._ – Rabindranath Tagore

* * *

Irina glanced at the clock next to the bed; it was just past three a.m. She gently took the knife from Jack's hand and let it fall to the floor. Cuvee had finally given up the struggle to live, and was now slumped forward in the chair, blood pooling at his feet.

"Jack?"

He didn't respond, and Irina knew better than to push him. She took his hand and led him into the bathroom. She turned the shower on and pushed him inside, clothes and all. She turned to leave, when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her under the spray with him, holding her close.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." He held her even closer. "Losing control like that – it scares me. It should scare you."

"Jack, he tortured you for months, he deliberately kept us apart; given the chance he would have killed you. Don't apologize."

"How can you stand here and say that?"

"Because—" She pulled away slightly so she could look at him. "Jack, I was as much involved in this as you were."

"I killed him."

"Jack—"

"I never wanted you to have to see this side of me—"

"Jack, look at me." She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "I am not who you thought I was, either. This – this darkness is not new to me."

The water poured over them as they stood there, staring at each other in the silence.

"You can see this part of me and still love me?"

"Yes."

He ran his fingers through her hair. After another long silence, he said, "What he said earlier, about your mother--?"

"My mother was a very talented assassin in her time."

He closed his eyes. "Shit. And she trained you?"

"She trained all of us."

"All of us as in 'you and your sisters', or as in 'the whole KGB'?"

"Not the _whole_ KGB."

Jack swore again, and leaned against the tiled wall. "Well, to be honest, she doesn't seem like the traditional grandmotherly type anyway."

"Don't worry, Jack. She likes you."

"I doubt that."

"You're not dead, are you?"

His smile seemed genuine, and some of the darkness had left his expression. "The more I learn about you and your family—"

"What?"

"All these years I thought you were an army brat, just like me."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I am just like you."

"I think I'm only just realizing how true that is."

"Come on; let's get cleaned up so we can get out of here."

* * *

By five a.m. they snuck out of the hotel using the fire escape. By five-thirty they were at Larisa's apartment.

"So this is where you live?" Jack said.

"Yes."

Jack looked around, surprised at how small the apartment was. He'd known it would be, but his expectations had not prepared him for the reality. "All of you live here?"

"Yes." She said it so matter-of-factly, and Jack couldn't help but think of their home in Los Angeles. Compared to this place, it was a castle.

He pulled her into a hug. "I love you."

He felt her smile against his neck. "Love you."

Katya and Larisa were already awake, and sitting in the kitchen sipping tea. "You certainly took your time," Larisa said.

"It's safe to talk," Katya added. "I've been up all night getting rid of the bugs."

"You're supposed to be in Finland." Irina leaned against the counter, her arms folded across her chest.

"Elena went instead."

Jack frowned. "Why?"

"Khasinau sprung me with a new assignment. Elena's supposed to be going out of the country anyway; no one will suspect her if she takes a little longer to get back."

Irina glanced at Jack, answering before he could ask. "She's an assassin."

"Of course." He shook his head.

"You're better with the girls," Irina addressed Katya.

"How did your evening work out?" Larisa gave Irina and Jack each a cup of tea.

"It went as planned," Jack said.

Katya left the kitchen, returning almost immediately with two bags. "Passports, money, tickets."

Irina hugged her. "Thank you."

"Let us know when you're somewhere safe."

"I will." She released her sister, then embraced her mother. "Mama."

"Take care, milochka."

Jack awkwardly extended his hand, and was surprised when Katya hugged him. "You're not too bad, Bristow."

Larisa kissed each of his cheeks, also surprising him. "Take care of her."

"Yes, ma'am."

They were about to leave, when Irina suddenly disappeared into one of the rooms. She returned with the photo album Jack had seen at the dacha. As she shoved it into one of the bags, he noticed she was wearing her wedding ring.

She opened her fist; his wedding ring was in the palm of her hand. Jack turned it over and ran his thumb along the inscription on the inside. A single word: _forever_. He smiled and slipped it on his finger.

"Where did you get this?"

Her expression darkened. "Arvin."

Jack didn't know what to say to that. He took the bags from her and turned towards the door. Irina hugged her mother and her sister once more, and then they left.


	23. Chapter 12b

Irina fell asleep on the train, her head on Jack's shoulder, his hand clasped tightly in hers. He looked out the window and watched the scenery pass by. There were three other people in their compartment: an old man who glared at anyone who dared look at him and two teenage girls dressed in school uniforms. The girls huddled together, poring over a magazine, giggling every now and then.

An hour into the journey, the schoolgirls got off the train. The grumpy old man glared at them as they left the compartment, then glared at Jack for good measure. He hid his smile, and looked down at Irina, who was still asleep.

"How long have you been married?" the old man asked after a while.

"Eight – no, nine years."

The old man nodded. "I was married once. She was pretty, too. Like your wife."

Jack smiled. He could think of more appropriate adjectives than 'pretty'.

"Ballet dancer." The old man sighed. "Ran off with an actor."

"I'm sorry."

The old man shrugged. "It was a long time ago. You hold onto your wife; make sure she doesn't run away."

"I'll do that."

"Nikolai Karkadan." He extended his hand; Jack shook it, surprised by the strength in the old man's grip.

"Ivan Ivanovitch." It was the name on the passport Katya had given him.

Nikolai smiled for the first time. "You got a cigarette?"

"Sorry, no." Jack shook his head.

"Hmm." He pushed himself to his feet. "Think I'll go for a walk."

"Making friends?" Irina asked. When Jack looked at her, her eyes were still closed.

"Did I wake you?"

"No." She snuggled into him. "You should get some sleep too."

"Later." He didn't think he'd be able to sleep until they were safely out of Russia. "You okay like that, or do you want to lie on my lap?"

She chuckled. "I think you have other motives for wanting me in your lap."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"Liar."

"Nikolai could come back at any moment."

Irina ran her hand over his chest. "I'm okay like this. But I reserve the right to change my mind later."

"When Nikolai gets off the train?"

She smiled in response. "Wake me up for lunch."

He brushed his hand over her hair and was gazing at her admiringly when Nikolai returned, smelling of cigarette smoke. He had an open bottle of vodka in his hand, and held it out for Jack.

* * *

Irina pushed the window open, and stuck her head out.

"What are you doing?"

"This carriage smells like stale cigarettes. It's giving me a headache." She pulled her head back inside and turned to face Jack. He was giving her a strange look. "What?"

"Now I know where Sydney gets that from."

Irina leaned back, her elbows resting on the edge of the window frame. "Is Nikolai still around?"

"He got off at the last stop." Jack reached behind him to lock the door. "We have an open invitation to visit him whenever we'd like."

"I'm impressed by your Russian, Jack. I don't think I've told you that yet."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm." She unclipped her hair, letting it fall free. The wind whipped it around her face and she tilted her head backwards. "It's very sexy."

"You think so?" He was standing just inches from her now, so close that she could feel the heat of his body.

"Do you like trains?" She smiled. "Of course you do. All boys like trains."

"Do you like trains?"

"Yes. I think they're –" she brushed her knee against his "—erotic."

Jack's grin broadened.

"Have you ever made love on a train, Jack?" She deliberately made her voice lower than normal.

"Ask me again in a couple of minutes."

"A couple of minutes?" She straightened, indignant, and accidentally bumped her head on the window. "Ow."

Jack pushed her hair away from her forehead to examine the injury. "Well, it's not bleeding."

"It's not funny. Stop laughing."

"I know just how to fix it."

"Did Nikolai leave any vodka behind?"

"Shh." He lifted her shirt up and dropped it on the floor behind them. Then he kissed her neck, lingering in the hollow at the base of her throat, before dipping his head between her breasts. He fingered the clasp of her bra. "Can we get rid of this?"

"I'm still breastfeeding. It'll be messy."

"I'm not opposed to messy." He removed his own shirt, then undid the clasp of her bra and let it fall to the floor as well. "Hey, are these bigger than before?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Jack. I'm surprised you've only noticed that now."

"I noticed before, I just didn't say anything." He winked at her, then bent his head to her chest, taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

She closed her eyes and gave a contented sigh. Jack teased her nipple with his tongue and alternated between sucking her and gently nipping with his teeth. Irina threaded her fingers through his hair to keep him close. "Jack, that feels – ohh."

He switched his attention to her other breast.

He unbuckled her belt, then slowly slid her pants down. He stood up to take his own pants off. His face was flushed, his eyes dark with desire.

"Turn around."

She braced her hands on the window, but the scenery was lost to her as Jack entered her from behind. All she knew was his touch, his kiss, the feel of him inside her.

The wind was cool against her hot skin. Afterwards, she and Jack remained the way they were. His hand brushed over her belly.

"That was incredible."

"Mmm." It was the most coherent she was able to be.

When the train began to slow, Jack pulled down the window and they quickly got dressed. She kissed him again. "Welcome to Leningrad."

* * *

From Leningrad they continued traveling and crossed the Finnish border into Kotka. From Kotka it was another train ride to Rauma, where they flew to Stockholm, this time using German passports.

"Welcome to Sweden, Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt," the woman at immigration said.

Irina smiled, and when they were on the other side of the counter, wrapped her arms around Jack's neck and kissed him soundly. "We made it."

Her enthusiasm was contagious. "Yes."

"Love you."

He kissed her again. "Let's go meet your sister and find our children."

At the hotel, the man behind the desk checked the register three times before shaking his head and apologizing again. "I'm sorry. There was a reservation under that name, but it was cancelled on Tuesday."

It was now Friday. "Maybe we have the wrong name," Irina said. "A woman with long dark hair, a little girl, and a baby. Are you sure they're not staying here?"

"I'm sure."

"Maybe we've got the wrong hotel," Jack said.

Irina looked at the clerk again. "Do you have a reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt?"

The clerk checked the register again; when he looked up he was smiling. "Yes, we do."

"We've got the right hotel." Irina didn't want to think about what had happened.

"Okay, well, we'll check in then."

Once they were in the room, Irina sat on the edge of the bed, gripped with worry. "What happened to them, Jack?"

"Maybe they just got delayed."

"But the cancelled reservation . . ." She reached for the phone. "I need to talk to Katya."

Jack caught her wrist. "Not from here."

They found a payphone on the street, not far from the hotel. Both of them crowded into the booth as Irina dialed the number with shaking hands.

"Da."

"Katya?"

"What the hell are you doing calling this number?" Katya hissed, her voice lowering to a whisper.

"They're not here."

"Who?"

"The girls."

"What do you mean they're not there?"

"They're not here."

"Ira, Elena came back last night. She said she'd seen you, that you were fine, that she'd left the girls with you."

Irina felt all her strength leave her. She sagged against the glass, the receiver slipping from her fingers. Jack caught it and continued the conversation. When he hung up, his face was expressionless.

Irina looked up at him, unable to do anything except stare at him in horror.

"We need to get back to the hotel."

"Jack—"

"It's not safe here. We have to move quickly."

"Sydney, Nadia—"

"I know." He pulled her into his arms. "We'll find them. We'll get them back. I promise."


	24. Chapter 13a

_Courage, it would seem, is nothing less than the power to overcome danger, misfortune, fear, injustice, while continuing to affirm inwardly that life with all its sorrows is good; that everything is meaningful even if in a sense beyond our understanding; and that there is always tomorrow. _– Dorothy Thompson

* * *

They moved to a different hotel, one that was smaller and less popular with tourists. Neither cared that watermarks stained the walls or that the paint in the bathroom was peeling. Irina curled up on the bed and stared unseeing at the closed curtains. Jack sat on one of the chairs and looked at his wife's back.

Hours passed before Irina finally rolled over to face him. She still wore that expression of betrayal that tore at his heart. His wife was in pain, his daughters were missing, and he . . . he felt numb.

They'd been so close to the happy ending he'd almost convinced himself didn't exist, so close.

"We have to go back," Irina said.

"To Moscow?"

"Yes."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"I need to speak to my sister. I need to know what happened."

"Look at the facts, Irina. She betrayed you."

"She's my sister—"

"She told Katya she brought the girls to you." Jack looked around the room, raising his hands in an empty gesture. "Do you see them anywhere?"

"Jack—"

"Who's to say she doesn't want you back in Moscow so you can be arrested?"

Irina seemed to curl in on herself. Jack crossed the room and lay down next to her, but didn't touch her. There was a part of his mind telling him this was a setup, that Irina was involved, that she'd never intended to leave with him, that she was going to kill him then go home.

But then she reached for his hand, shifted closer to him, and he felt her tears wet his neck. "Why would she lie? Why? I don't understand."

Jack remained silent.

"I don't know what to do. I feel – I don't know. My _sister_."

Again, Jack said nothing.

Irina pulled away, then swatted his chest. "Say something, dammit!"

"What would you like me to say?"

"Anything. Just –" She flopped onto her back. "I can't stand this. It's like losing you all over again, but worse, even. I can't think, I –"

Jack rolled onto his side and put his arm over her. "We'll get them back."

"How?" She pushed his arm away and sat up. "You're dead – we have no contacts here. The KGB is probably after me. We have no money. We have nothing!"

"We have each other."

Irina looked at him; he watched the play of emotions on her face, surprised to see that the strongest appeared to be relief.

"You don't hate me?"

"No."

"But it was my idea to send the girls ahead. If—"

"Don't think like that." He sat up too. "The most important thing right now is to figure out how we're going to get our children back."

* * *

A month later, Jack and Irina sat in a beer hall in West Berlin. To the casual observer, they appeared too wrapped up in one another to realize that there was anyone else in the room, but both were highly alert and on guard.

Irina, who had a better view of the entrance from her position on Jack's lap, saw Katya enter first. She whispered the information in Jack's ear, and felt his body grow tense.

Katya waved at one of the waitresses and ordered a drink, then slid into the same booth occupied by Jack and Irina. She glanced at them briefly and smirked; they didn't look at her.

"Elena's disappeared," Katya said after the waitress delivered her drink. "She was supposed to carry out an assassination in London, but she never arrived. The KGB is less than pleased with the Derevkos these days. First you vanish, now Elena."

"How did you manage to come here then?" Jack didn't bother masking the suspicion in his voice.

Katya sipped her drink. "Khasinau's an easy enough man to convince."

Irina grimaced, but said nothing.

Katya surreptitiously removed an envelope from her pocket and slid it across the seat. Jack picked it up and slipped it into Irina's bag.

"Mama sends her love." Katya finished her drink, then left.

Jack and Irina remained where they were for a while longer before leaving as well.

In the safety of their hotel room, Irina ripped open the envelope. In it was a key and a slip of paper.

* * *

Katya had left a more detailed report in the safety deposit box. According to what she'd managed to discover, Elena had developed an interest in an ancient Italian inventor. Irina frowned as she studied the sheet of paper.

"Rambaldi. I've heard that name before."

"What does a dead Italian have to do with anything?"

Irina shook her head, trying to remember why the name was so familiar.

Jack held up a copy of the KGB report on Cuvee's death. "They haven't connected us to this. One less thing to worry about."

Irina spread the remaining papers out in front of her. "There's nothing about the girls. Nothing."

"They're still alive."

She nodded. "I know – I think I'd feel it if they weren't."

Jack put his hand on her shoulder. "We'll find them."

"Yes."

She pushed the papers aside and straddled Jack's lap. It was the first time in a month that they made love.

* * *

The next time they met Katya, three weeks had passed. They were still in West Berlin, standing in a line outside a movie theatre. Katya brushed past them, her bag slipping from her shoulder to the floor, then moved on and vanished around a corner. Irina bent down to pick up the bag; it contained the Rambaldi documents Irina had been working on her last day at the KGB.

In November, they were in Geneva, when Larisa Derevko fell in step with them as they strolled through one of the markets. She had no news about Elena or the girls, but she gave them a list of people who owed her favours. They were glad for the contacts, though frustrated at their lack of progress.

As well as the list of contacts, Larisa had also passed on a packet of information from Katya. They'd opened it to discover enough blackmail material on various people to finance everything they needed. Neither Jack nor Irina wanted to know how Katya had got hold of all this information, but they were desperate enough to use it.

One night, when they were getting ready to meet a contact, Jack paused in the middle of buttoning up his shirt to stare at Irina. "Is that all you're wearing?"

She stepped into a pair of thigh high boots then studied her reflection in the mirror. A short black dress and a sheer floor length red coat completed the outfit. Her lips were the same shade as the coat. She picked up a pair of earrings. "Yes."

"I don't want you sleeping with anyone for information."

Irina turned around to face him. "Why is that the first assumption you always make?"

"Look at what you're wearing. What am I supposed to think?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and turned back to the mirror. Then, changing her mind, she turned around again. "I will do whatever it takes to find my children."

"And I mean nothing to you?"

"You know that's not true."

"Do I?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I have never been unfaithful to you—"

"And Cuvee?"

"You were dead!" Frustrated, she looked around for something to throw. Her fingers closed on the handle of her brush, and she flung it at him. "I thought we were past this, Jack."

All they did these days was fight, she thought miserably. She shook her head in defeat and turned away from Jack.

"You'll be cold," he said.

"Only until we're inside the club." She wouldn't look at him.

Surprisingly, he came to her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I – I don't know when things got so messed up. We never used to be this good at hurting each other."

"Nothing's been right since the day you left for North Korea."

"Yeah." He sighed. Then, "We'd better get going."

Once they were in the club, Irina flirted with their contact – one Louis Chevalier, someone they'd been told was a Rambaldi follower – long enough for him to suggest going somewhere a little more private. Louis was more interested in Irina than what was happening around him, and he did not notice Jack following them until it was too late.

He had very little information for them, though there was one thing he said that they hadn't heard before. According to Louis, there was another group of Rambaldi followers, zealots who called themselves the Knights of Rambaldi, who believed that the Chosen One had been born within the last decade and were looking for her.

"This is all nonsense," Jack said as they returned to their hotel room.

"Maybe." Irina stripped down to her underwear then stepped into the bathroom. She left the door open a crack. "But as long as people believe it, it can't be dismissed as nothing."

She thought of the documents she'd looked over in the last few months and could almost understand why Rambaldi had so many followers.

"Do you think this Chosen One stuff has anything to do with why Elena took the girls?"

Irina stepped into the shower. "I don't know. Elena was never the type to believe in things like prophecies. It doesn't make sense."

"Nothing makes sense."

"Maybe if we can track down one of these Knights—"

"Maybe this has nothing to do with finding the girls."

"Well, do you have any other leads?"

Jack was silent. Irina sighed and began washing her hair. She kept glancing towards the bathroom door, half-hoping that Jack would come in and join her. By the time she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, she knew that wasn't going to happen, and hid her disappointment. It had been weeks since they'd last made love, weeks since Jack had made any move to touch her when it wasn't connected to their cover roles.

She hadn't just lost her daughters, she thought as the hot water poured over her. She'd also lost her husband. Again.


	25. Chapter 13b

Christmas found them in Venice, still chasing Rambaldi in the desperate hope that their search would lead them to their daughters. Jack left Irina in the hotel and went for a walk around the city.

He thought of the turns his life had taken over the past year, and wondered how different things would be if he had turned down that last assignment. It had been a last-minute decision to go. The agent who had been supposed to go had fallen ill, and Jack volunteered to replace him.

In a perfect world, they would still be in Los Angeles. The house would be decorated for Christmas, Sydney would be compiling a list for Santa and he and Irina would playfully argue about how much they were going to spoil her.

No. She would still be Laura.

His footsteps slowed. This was Nadia's first Christmas, he realized.

And Sydney's second Christmas without her father.

He suddenly wondered what last Christmas had been like. Had they celebrated it? He had no idea if Christmas was even a Russian holiday.

And Irina . . . what must she be feeling?

He thought of her as he'd left her in the hotel room, a solitary figure sitting staring at the window. Was she as lonely as he was?

He tried to recall the last time they'd talked without arguing, and couldn't. Then he tried to remember the last time he'd held her, and realized he couldn't do that either. Now he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms again; maybe if they could connect with each other, perhaps some of this constant ache would go away.

He turned around and headed back to the hotel.

* * *

It was hopeless, Irina thought. They would never find the girls. Sydney and Nadia – if they were even still alive – were lost to her now.

She had Jack, but even he was still lost to her. Over the last few months that had become painfully clear. Was this her punishment for betraying him?

She glanced around the hotel room and for a moment couldn't even remember what city she was in. The hotel room looked just like one of the countless other rooms they'd stayed in. She saw her future as an endless series of hotel rooms, sharing a bed with a husband who no longer loved her, getting caught up in mad prophecies and a search for lost children.

It seemed unbearable.

But what were the alternatives? Giving up the search would mean admitting that Sydney and Nadia would not be found. Irina couldn't go back to Russia either; the moment she set foot in Moscow she would be arrested and most likely executed.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and crossed the room. From the small closet she took out her gun then sat on the edge of the bed. She ran her fingers lightly over the barrel before raising the weapon and pressing the muzzle against her temple. It would be so easy to pull the trigger, to end it all. If she died, Jack would be free at last.

Her hand was shaking too much. She moved the gun, placing the barrel in her mouth. There could be no margin for error. She closed her eyes.

She thought of Sydney; a gap-toothed smile and dimples. She imagined Nadia, her tiny fist curled around Irina's finger.

And Jack, looking at her with an expression of love she hadn't seen in months.

She wanted to pull the trigger, but she knew she wouldn't. She couldn't.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Rough hands pulled the gun away from her and she opened her eyes to look into the panicked face of her husband.

"I—" The words wouldn't come, and she bent over, clutching her stomach as she started to cry.

"What were you thinking?" Jack sat next to her and after a moment, he put his arms around her. "Irina, look at me."

She hugged herself tighter.

"Sweetheart, please."

It was the 'sweetheart' that did it. She turned her face towards him. "Jack—"

"Why – why would you – we'll find them, okay? Just don't give up on me."

"Jack, I—"

"Promise me you won't – just promise!"

"Promise."

He pulled her into a hug and held her tight.

"What happened?" Jack asked a while later. Irina noticed he seemed calmer.

"I don't know."

"I can't lose you, too."

Irina moved out of the embrace. "But – you can't mean that."

"Why not?"

"You don't love me."

He stared at her, incredulous. "I don't love you?"

"How can you? This is all my fault." She started to stand; he grabbed her wrist and forced her to sit down again. "Jack, let go."

"How can you possibly think I don't love you?"

Now it was her turn to stare in disbelief. "Jack, I see how you look at me, like you wish I was dead. You can't even stand to touch me anymore—"

Jack pushed her backwards onto the bed, pinning her in place with his body. "If I wanted you dead, I would not have stopped you from pulling the trigger. Yes, it hurts to look at you, but not because I don't love you. You walk around, your body language screaming 'don't touch' but I know you're in pain, and I don't know how to help you."

He kissed her then, tenderly, tentatively, as if this was the first kiss they had ever shared. She felt something break deep inside her, felt it spill free and cover every part of her. She felt so far removed from the woman who had put a gun in her mouth, felt that she was someone else entirely.

"I can't remember a time when I didn't love you," Jack said, and she believed him.

* * *

Jack held the gondola steady while Irina stepped out. Then they hurried down the cobbled street. At the end of the road was a narrow staircase leading to a small bookshop; one Jack and Irina had been told served as a front for the Knights of Rambaldi. They were about to climb the stairs when the door at the top opened. Jack pushed Irina against the wall and started kissing her; they could have been any young couple looking for privacy on a moonlit night.

Jack and Irina continued kissing as they heard footsteps descend the stairs, then amused chuckles as the other people passed them. He kept kissing her until the street was silent again, and even then, it was with reluctance that he pulled away.

When he noticed Irina's flushed cheeks and erratic breathing, he gave a smug smile. She scowled and swatted his chest.

"You expect me to concentrate after that?"

"I didn't notice any complaints at the time."

She shook her head, but she was smiling too.

"Come on." Jack started up the stairs.

The lights in the bookshop were now off, and it didn't take long for him to pick the lock. If this really did belong to the Knights of Rambaldi, their security could do with an upgrade.

Once inside, Jack and Irina turned on their flashlights and began looking around. Jack still wasn't sure whether or not he actually believed all this Rambaldi stuff, but Irina seemed to be taking it seriously. She was right about one thing, he had to admit; it didn't really matter whether they believed. Other people did, and that meant they had to take it seriously.

"Over here!" Irina said.

Jack hurried to her end of the bookshop. She'd gone into the backroom, one hidden from the main room by a curtain. Jack pushed the curtain aside, then froze as he looked at what she'd found.

Old, yellowed documents were spread out over a large round table. Jack was familiar enough with the spidery writing on the pages to know that these were Rambaldi documents. Irina's attention was fixed solely on the sheet of paper in her hands, and the look on her face was one of horror. She turned it to show Jack, and he felt his gut twist.

"That's impossible," he said. "It can't be you."

Irina carefully rolled up the sheet of paper.

Jack was still reeling from the shock of seeing his wife's face on a five-hundred-year-old document that he didn't hear the other person until it was too late. As he turned, he felt something hard connect with the back of his head and he fell to the floor.

"You shouldn't have come here," his attacker said in Russian. "You were never supposed to see this."

He glanced up to see a man standing over him. In the corner of his vision, he saw Irina pointing her gun at the man.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

Jack noticed a small tattoo at the base of the man's right thumb: the mark of Rambaldi. He also noticed the man was unarmed, and wondered what he'd been hit with.

"Who are you?" Irina repeated.

The man smiled. "Arkady Nikolaevitch Derevko."


	26. Chapter 14a

_How can you bear to look at the Neva?  
__How can you bear to cross the bridges?  
__Not in vain am I known as the grieving one  
__Since the time you appeared to me.  
__The black angels' wings are sharp,  
__Judgment Day is coming soon,  
__And raspberry-coloured bonfires bloom,  
__Like roses in the snow._

-- Anna Akhmatova, "How can you bear to look at the Neva?"

* * *

Irina was in a state of shock. She stepped backwards, her eyes never leaving the other man's face. "Arkady Derevko," she repeated dully.

"Yes."

"You're—" She shook her head slowly. "You can't be him."

"I am."

"No." She raised her weapon. "My father died when I was four years old. You're. Not. Him."

"Irina—"

"Don't move." She glanced at Jack, relieved that he wasn't injured. He moved away from the man claiming to be her father, then got to his feet.

"I faked my death."

Irina thought of the stories her mother had told her about what a good man her father was, how much he'd loved his daughters, how he'd died a hero for his country. She shook her head. "No."

"I found out about Rambaldi years ago, just after you were born. When I realized you were tied into the prophecies, I faked my death so I could devote more time to studying them."

Irina felt Jack stiffen beside her. "I have nothing to do with these prophecies."

"You can say that, even while you hold that manuscript in your hand?" Arkady smiled. "There's more, would you like to see?"

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say."

"Jack, in that closet behind you, there's a wooden box. Take it out and put it on the table, please."

Jack folded his arms across his chest.

"Irina, trust me."

"Trust you?" She adjusted her grip on her gun. "Give me one reason not to shoot you right now."

"I know where Sydney is."

Before Irina could do anything, Jack had Arkady pinned against the wall, his hands on Arkady's throat. "Where's my daughter?"

"Safe."

"You bastard, tell me where she is—"

"You first need to know why she was taken!"

"Let him talk, Jack."

Jack looked at Irina, then stepped away, releasing Arkady. Arkady walked around the table and opened the closet, then took out the box he'd wanted Jack to take earlier. He set it on the table, opened it, and removed a smaller box, gold, with ornate lettering on the top.

Irina felt suddenly lightheaded when she realized the letters spelled out her own name. First the picture, now this. Had Rambaldi really seen the future, seen her?

"Okay, talk." She heard the undercurrent of anger in Jack's voice and knew it was only a mask for his own confusion.

"I've spent decades trying to discover what you meant to Rambaldi. The last thing I wanted was to leave you and your sisters, but it was the only way I knew to protect you. A few months ago, I realized you're not the Chosen One Rambaldi speaks of; you're her mother."

Irina felt slightly nauseous. She felt Jack's hand at the small of her back, and drew strength from his presence.

"I believe Sydney is the woman he writes of."

"She's just a little girl," Irina protested.

"She's his Chosen One."

"This is ridiculous," Jack said.

Arkady shook his head. "I thought so, too, in the beginning. But you'll come to see, like I did, that it's real."

"Did you take Sydney?" Irina asked.

Arkady sighed. He ran his fingers over the letters on the box before raising his head to look at Irina. "About a year ago, your sister found out I was alive. She'd been doing her own research into Rambaldi and she discovered the same thing I had, that Sydney was the Chosen One." He paused. "I made her promise not to say anything to you and Katya and your mother."

"Is Sydney with her?"

"No." Arkady put the gold box back into the wooden box. "She's with Arvin and Emily Sloane."

* * *

Over the last few months, Sloane's role in Jack's capture and imprisonment had taken a backseat to the search for Sydney and Nadia. Now it was all too easy to remember that Sloane shared part of the blame for the nightmare their lives had become. Now Jack remembered a seemingly meaningless comment of Cuvee's: "You want to know what your friend sold you for? A five-hundred-year-old prophecy!"

Arkady had confirmed Sloane's interest in Rambaldi. He'd also told them Elena had not intended to take the girls away until Jack had come back, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps the worst revelation of the evening was one he'd only hinted at, a prophecy involving Nadia, and the death of one or both of the girls.

Now Jack and Irina were in the middle of the Florence countryside, outside a villa belonging to Arvin Sloane. Irina had been quiet since meeting her father; Jack could hardly blame her. He didn't know how he'd react if he was in the same situation.

He still refused to believe in these prophecies – but faced with the picture and the box, he was starting to have his doubts.

"Are you ready?"

Irina nodded, and the two of them scaled the wall surrounding the villa. They crept through the garden, sticking to the shadows as they moved closer to the house. There was light shining from an open window; as they passed, they heard voices and laughter.

They kept going, further around to the back. There was another open window, and they used it to gain entry to the house, finding themselves in a large kitchen.

"I'll get it!" they heard Sydney call, and before they could do anything, she skipped into the kitchen. As soon as she saw them, she screamed.

"Sweetheart, it's okay." Irina stepped towards her.

Sydney stepped back, still screaming. A moment later, the Sloanes came running to see what was wrong. Emily looked from Jack to Irina, confused. Sloane seemed less surprised than curious. He smiled, then put his hand on Sydney's shoulder.

"It's alright, Sydney," he said. "Now, I want you to go to your room."

"Sydney's not going anywhere," Jack said.

To his surprise, she moved closer to Sloane, looking up at him with absolute trust on her face. Jack felt ill.

"Sweetheart, these aren't your parents. Your mother and father died in a train wreck, remember?"

Sydney nodded, then glanced suspiciously at Jack and Irina.

"That's not true, Sydney. Come here, sweetheart." There was desperation in Irina's voice.

"Sydney, you know I've never lied to you."

Irina moved like lightning. One moment she was beside Jack, the next she had her knife against Emily's neck. A brief look of panic flashed across Sloane's face. He brushed his hand over Sydney's head, then said, calmly, "Raspberry-coloured bonfires bloom like roses in the snow."

Sydney frowned. "Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" Jack said, at the same time as Sloane said, "Yes, Julia. You know what to do."

Jack watched in disbelief as Sydney quietly left the room.

"What the hell have you done to my child, Arvin?"

Sloane simply smiled. "Laura – I'm sorry, Irina – please release my wife."

Irina shook her head.

"And I thought you and Emily were such good friends."

"I thought you and Jack were such good friends, and you sent him to a gulag for almost a year."

Sloane lifted his hands, the gesture one of peace. "Regardless, Emily's done nothing. Let her go."

"We're not leaving here without Sydney," Jack said.

Sloane looked even more amused. Before Jack could figure out what that expression meant, there was a gunshot. Emily screamed. Irina released her, stumbling backwards, her hand moving up to cover the wound in her shoulder. Her gaze was focused just behind Sloane, on Sydney, who stood there holding a gun as if it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

"I don't think Sydney wants to leave," Sloane said.

"Arvin! What's going on?" Emily leaned against the kitchen counter to support herself, looking between Irina and Sydney in horror.

"Project Christmas," Jack hissed. As Sydney aimed the gun at him, he looked at Sloane. "You'll have her kill her own parents?"

"Arvin! No!" Emily pleaded.

"It's okay, Julia." Sloane's voice was calm. "They're going now."

Neither Jack nor Irina moved.

"Let me show you to the door." Sloane smiled and gestured for them to follow him.

Jack put his arm around Irina. They left a terrified Emily and an expressionless Sydney in the kitchen, and followed Sloane through the house, dripping blood on the floor.

"I wish I could say it was good to see you again," Sloane said.

"This isn't over."

Sloane smiled. "Of course not."

As he shut the door on them, Irina sagged against Jack. "We've lost her. That's not our little girl anymore."

"We'll get her back."


	27. Chapter 14b

Irina had refused painkillers, wanting to be clearheaded when they returned to the villa after dark. Fortunately the bullet had just nicked her, and Jack had been able to clean and stitch the wound himself.

She couldn't get over the image of her child standing there, utterly remorseless, as she pulled the trigger. Whatever Sloane had done to Sydney, Irina would make him pay for it.

"You okay?" Jack asked for what could have been the hundredth time.

"Yes." Her arm felt like it was on fire and it seemed as though her insides were all twisted, but nothing was going to stop her from going back into that villa tonight and putting a bullet in Arvin Sloane's head.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, dammit."

Jack looked at her, then nodded. "Okay, let's go."

The villa was completely dark, not that surprising since it was already long past midnight. They broke in through a different a window, then split up to search the house.

Forty minutes later they met in front of the staircase. "It's empty," Jack said.

Irina sat on the bottom step. Suddenly drained of all strength, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

"We should leave. It's probably not safe here."

"In a minute." The full horror of what had happened earlier hit her: her daughter had shot her. Her seven-year-old knew how to use a gun and had used it on her. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she reached for Jack. He sat next to her and put his arm around her.

There was a noise at the front door. Irina couldn't do anything; she didn't need to, Jack already had his gun out and was ready to shoot.

"Oh!" Emily gasped. "You're here!"

Irina opened her eyes. Emily stood in the open doorway, holding a flashlight in one hand. A frightened Sydney was clinging to her other hand.

"He told me everything," Emily said dully. Studying her more intently, Irina recognized the look of the betrayed. "He seemed to think I'd understand, that I'd agree with what he'd done."

She looked around, then shook her head, giving a short, nervous bark of laughter. "I don't. I can't."

Irina couldn't take her eyes off Sydney. She wasn't that robotic child from earlier; she seemed herself again.

"I'm sorry, Jack, Laur—" She caught herself. "He told me you were both dead. If I'd known the truth sooner . . . He doesn't know I've come here. But you don't have much time."

Irina got to her feet, using the wall for balance.

"It's okay, Sydney," Emily said. "Go say hi to your mommy and daddy. They've come to take you home."

Sydney looked up uncertainly, then her gaze switched to her parents. She released Emily's hand, then took one hesitant step forward. Then another. And another.

"Oh, sweetheart." Irina fell to her knees and hugged Sydney. Jack knelt beside them and wrapped his arms around both of them.

"You said you wouldn't go away again," Sydney said, then burst into tears.

Irina glanced up at Emily. "Thank you."

Emily's face was also streaked with tears. She nodded, then turned and walked into another part of the house.

"Let's go," Jack said. He stood, helped Irina up, then scooped Sydney into his arms.

* * *

Jack watched his wife and daughter sleep, curled together, on the hotel bed. Irina had her arm protectively wrapped over Sydney's waist. Irina had finally taken something for the pain in her arm; on an empty stomach, the drugs had knocked her out almost immediately. Sydney was in a state of shock, and Jack had given her a mild sleeping pill.

He knew he would get no sleep tonight.

It didn't matter; he had gone days without sleep before, when much less was at stake. He would watch over Irina and Sydney tonight; he could rest another time.

He stood, then slowly crossed the room and peered through the crack where the curtain met the wall. The street outside was well lit, and Jack could see nothing to raise suspicion. He walked to the door and stood listening for a moment; there was silence from the other side. Satisfied, he returned to his seat.

They'd found Sydney.

Even as he looked at her now, he felt that this was all just a dream. They'd been searching for so long and, at last, they had her back.

And now that she was finally back, Jack could admit to himself that there was a part of him that had doubted they would ever find her.

Still, it wasn't over yet. Some of his joy diminished with the thought that they had no leads on Nadia's whereabouts. And – his good mood evaporated even more – he needed to find out exactly what Sloane had been doing to Sydney, and if there was any way of undoing it.

Sloane would have to be taken care of, he thought. What he'd done to Jack, the lies he'd told Irina – that paled in comparison to what he'd done to Sydney. Jack didn't think he could ever forget the look on Irina's face when Sydney shot her. He didn't think he'd ever be able to forget the horror he'd felt at that moment.

Yes, Arvin Sloane deserved to die. Whatever remnant of friendship Jack had felt had vanished the second Sydney had called Sloane "Daddy."

Jack shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on the fact that Sydney was no longer with Sloane. "Everything's going to be okay," he told himself.

A short while later, he checked the window again. It was still clear. Instead of returning to his seat, he opened the closet and took an inventory of what he and Irina had with them. He was halfway through making a list of what they needed to leave the country when there was a soft knock at the door.

Jack screwed a silencer onto the barrel of his gun as he walked to the door. He looked through the spyhole, and hesitated.

Arkady Derevko stood in the hallway.

Jack glanced at Irina and Sydney, then unlocked the door and opened it a crack. "What do you want?"

Arkady held up a satchel. "I want to give this to you."

"What is it?" Jack made no move to take the bag.

"I can't stay; just take it."

"How did you find us here?"

"That's not important." He placed the satchel on the floor. "I have to go."

"Wait." Jack's hand shot out to grab him as he turned to leave. "Why did you help us? Why did you tell us about Sydney?"

Arkady just smiled. "Be careful, Jack. This is nowhere near over." He pulled free of Jack's hold and walked down the hallway.

Jack picked up the satchel and took it into the room. In it he found the gold box with Irina's name on it, and a wad of hundred-dollar bills.

"Irina?" He put his hand on her leg. "Sweetheart, wake up."

She didn't stir. Jack sighed, then quickly began to pack up all their things. If Arkady had found them here, then anybody could.

First thing in the morning, Jack would visit a money changer – three or four, he decided, this much money at once would draw too much attention – and exchange the dollars for lire, as well as currency for some of the neighbouring countries. Then he, Irina and Sydney would find somewhere safe to stay, somewhere Irina could let her arm heal, and he could undo Project Christmas.


	28. Chapter 15a

_In each family a story is playing itself out, and each family's story embodies its hope and despair._ – Auguste Napier

* * *

It had been one week since the events at the Sloanes' villa; Jack, Irina and Sydney were still in Italy, staying at a farmhouse belonging to one of Larisa's contacts. The only other person they had seen so far was a teenage shepherd who gazed adoringly at Irina every time they encountered him. Jack had more pressing concerns than the kid's crush on his wife, and Irina was too preoccupied with other thoughts to pay much attention to the boy.

Sydney refused to be separated from either of her parents for any length of time and followed Jack or Irina around wherever they went. On the seventh night of their stay at the farm, Irina and Jack were woken by Sydney's piercing screams. As they had on each of the six preceding nights, they rushed to her bedroom. After calming her down and reassuring her they were both very much alive, they sat beside her, telling stories until she fell asleep again.

When they returned to the master bedroom, Irina didn't get back into bed immediately. She stood by the window and stared out at the surrounding landscape. She felt Jack's presence behind her, and leaned back against him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Arvin Sloane needs to be dealt with," she said.

"What if he knows where Nadia is?"

She turned, still in Jack's embrace. "Then we'll make him talk."

"And if he doesn't know?"

She held his gaze. Jack gave the briefest nod; Sloane's fate did not need to be voiced for him to understand. In this, their thoughts were the same.

Irina leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. For just a moment, she could pretend nothing had changed, that nothing was wrong. "Do you think it's too late for our family?"

Jack's hold on her tightened. "No."

"Have you figured out what Sloane did?" She was almost afraid to ask; in her dreams each night she saw Sydney shoot her, over and over again. Jack had spent several hours each day working with Sydney, asking questions about the last few months. Today he had put her into a state of hypnosis; Irina had waited until now to ask, not sure whether she would ever be ready for the answer.

Jack exhaled; his sigh loud. "I can't say for sure what his intentions were, but I think – I suspect he was trying to brainwash her. Maybe into thinking she was his. I don't know. He had definitely started Project Christmas on her, that much I can tell."

Irina could hear the disgust in his voice as he continued. "I wish I'd never heard of Project Christmas."

"How much does she remember about that night?"

"I don't know."

"I don't want her to remember."

"Irina—" Jack pulled back slightly.

"No. She's just a little girl, Jack. She shouldn't have to live with—" Irina's fingers curled in Jack's shirt, her voice dropping to a whisper. "With shooting her mother."

Jack was quiet for a long time. "Maybe she doesn't remember."

"Maybe."

He took her hand and gently led her back to the bed. "Come on; you need to get some rest. We can talk more in the morning."

* * *

"Sweetheart, let's go for a walk."

"Is Daddy coming?"

Jack and Irina exchanged glances. Jack needed to go into town for supplies; the walk was a ruse so that Sydney wouldn't know he was gone. Irina brushed Sydney's hair out of her face and smiled. "Daddy needs to work."

Sydney bit her lip. "Okay."

"It'll be fun," Irina continued. "Just you and me."

Sydney slipped her hand into Irina's, and the two of them left the house. They walked in relative silence for a while, until Sydney suddenly said, "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"How come Uncle Arvin and Aunt Emily said you died?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe they thought we really were dead." Jack and Irina had made the decision to shelter Sydney from what had really happened.

"Mommy, where's Nadia?"

Pain cut through Irina. "I don't know, baby. We're still looking for her."

"Uncle Arvin said she died too." Sydney's grip on Irina's hand tightened. "But you're not dead. Maybe she's not dead."

"Sweetheart, let's – let's sit for a while." Irina led them to a rock, and sat down. "Can you tell me what happened with Aunt Elena?"

Sydney began chewing on her thumbnail. "We went to a hotel. It was really nice; Aunt Lena said I could eat as much ice cream as I wanted. But then I got a tummy ache, so I slept, and then Uncle Arvin was there and he said you and Daddy and Nadia had an accident."

"Was your aunt still there?"

Sydney shook her head. "Only Uncle Arvin. He said I had to live with him and Aunt Emily." She frowned slightly. "I told him I wanted you and Daddy. I knew you weren't dead – 'cause everyone said Daddy was dead before, but he wasn't."

"Oh, sweetheart." Irina pulled Sydney onto her lap and kissed her forehead.

"But you took so long to come get me." Sydney buried her face in Irina's neck. "I missed you, Mommy. Don't go away again."

"Sydney, your father and I looked for you every day. We thought about you all the time."

"I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too, baby."

They sat like that for a long time. Then Sydney said, "You're going to find Nadia too, aren't you, Mommy?"

"Yes."

Sydney slid off Irina's lap. "Look, Mommy! Sheep!"

The young shepherd looked up as Sydney skipped towards the sheep. When his gaze settled on Irina, he blushed. "Bon giorno, Signora," he mumbled.

"Are these your sheep?" Sydney asked. "Can I touch one?"

The boy frowned in confusion, so Irina repeated Sydney's request in Italian. "Si, si!" He nodded, then smiled shyly at Irina.

Acting as interpreter for Sydney, Irina discovered the boy's name was Giovanni, he was seventeen, he lived on the neighbouring farm, and he had a sister Sydney's age.

"Mommy, can I go play with Monica?" Sydney asked.

"We'll see."

"Oh, please, Mommy? Pretty please?"

Irina couldn't say no. "Tomorrow." She made arrangements for Giovanni to bring his sister to the house the following day. When she told Sydney what the plan was, Sydney skipped all the way back home.


	29. Chapter 15b

Sydney's scream pulled Jack and Irina from sleep. They stumbled down the moonlit hall and into her room. She sat on the bed, her back pressed against the headboard, her knees drawn to her chest. She looked at her parents as they entered, then seemed to curl in on herself, her scream increasing in pitch.

"Sweetheart, it's okay. We're here." Irina sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on Sydney's shoulder. Sydney jerked away, scrambling to the other side of the bed. She hopped off the edge then darted towards the door.

Jack caught her before she could run out. He swung her up and cradled her against his chest. "Sydney?"

Sydney fought him, kicking and screaming and twisting in his arms. He looked at Irina, whose face was pale, her eyes frightened. Jack was just as afraid.

Sydney eventually went limp in his arms, collapsing against his chest, her screams tapering to a steady sobbing. Jack slowly crossed the room and sat on the bed, then looked at Irina again.

"Is she afraid of us, Jack?"

He looked down at Sydney. "I don't know."

Irina stretched out her hand, then stopped just short of touching Sydney before she jerked her hand back and let it fall to her lap. "I don't know what to do anymore."

Jack reached for her hand, covering it with his own. He wanted to reassure her, but the words wouldn't come. He didn't know what to do either. Irina shifted closer to him, then rested her head on his shoulder.

"She's asleep again."

"It was just another nightmare," Jack said.

"They're getting worse."

Sydney stirred slightly in Jack's arms, nestling into his chest. She murmured something too low for him to hear, then stilled. Irina rubbed her hand over Sydney's back.

"She can sleep with us tonight," Jack said.

* * *

"Mommy! Wake up!"

Irina felt something heavy land on her stomach and opened her eyes to see Sydney straddling her. Sydney was grinning from ear to ear, bearing no resemblance to the terrified child from the previous night.

"Good morning," Irina said. "Where's Daddy?"

"Running." Sydney wrinkled her nose. "Mommy, how come I slept in your bed?"

Irina slid into a sitting position, keeping Sydney on her lap. She tucked Sydney's hair behind her ears to buy time to think. "You had a bad dream. We thought it would be better if you stayed with us."

"Oh."

"Do you remember your dream?"

Sydney shook her head. "Nuh-uh. Mommy, is Monica coming today?"

"Yes, she is."

"When?"

Irina glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "An hour. So you can eat breakfast and help Mommy tidy up first."

An hour later, Sydney was sitting on the front steps of the porch, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Irina watched her from the doorway, deep in thought. She hoped Giovanni brought his sister; perhaps it would help for Sydney to have a friend her own age.

Jack came jogging up the path towards the house. He knelt in front of Sydney and kissed her cheek. "Morning, sweetheart."

"Gross! Daddy, you're all sweaty!"

"Sorry." He glanced at Irina and winked at her. Then he turned his attention back to Sydney. "You look very pretty this morning."

"Monica's coming to play. Right, Mommy?" She looked over her shoulder, and Irina nodded.

Jack stood, and crossed to Irina. He slid his arms around her waist and kissed her. Laughing, she pulled away. Mimicking Sydney: "Gross! Daddy, you're all sweaty!"

Undeterred, Jack pinned her against the doorframe.

"Daddy, what are you doing?"

Jack smiled against Irina's neck. "Saying good morning to Mommy."

"No, you weren't. You were kissing."

"Why does she ask questions she already knows the answers to?"

Irina held back the laughter bubbling in her throat as she pushed Jack away. "Go take a shower."

"Alone?"

"Alone. Sydney's friend is supposed to be here any minute."

Jack gave a mock pout then disappeared into the house. Irina walked to the steps and sat next to Sydney.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"How come you and Daddy kiss all the time?"

"Well . . . I love Daddy very much." She took Sydney's hand and placed it over her heart. "Feel that?"

"Uh-huh."

"When Daddy kisses me, he makes my heart beat faster. Like this." She smiled. "One day you'll find someone who makes your heart beat faster."

Sydney looked thoughtful. "Did Uncle Gerard make your heart beat faster?"

"Not like Daddy does." Irina didn't like to think of her time with Cuvee. There were moments when she thought she should have known, somehow, that Jack wasn't really dead. Biting back the guilt, she pointed down the path. "Look. They're here."

A girl in her late teens approached, holding the hand of a girl Sydney's age. In her other hand was a basket, its contents hidden by a red and white checkered cloth. Irina was instantly suspicious, despite the teenager's broad smile.

"Hello," she said in Italian. "I'm Francesca. This is Monica."

Irina smiled. "Andrea," she said. "And this is my daughter, Valerie."

Francesca released Monica's hand, then lifted the cloth as she held the basket towards Irina. "My mother sent this for you."

"Thank you." Still cautious, Irina accepted the basket and studied the contents. Fresh bread, homemade jam, milk, a bottle of wine. She immediately felt foolish for her earlier paranoia, and this time her smile was genuine.

Sydney and Monica were eyeing each other warily. Monica was a miniature version of Francesca; dark curls, olive skin, large brown eyes.

"Hi," Sydney eventually said. "Wanna play pirates?"

Irina translated, Monica nodded, and the two girls ran around to the back of the house.

"My brother will fetch Monica later," Francesca said. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," Irina echoed, and watched the young woman walk back down the path. She looked at the basket again, then turned and went into the house.

* * *

"Uno, due, tre, Quattro, cinque," Sydney sang as Jack washed her hair. "Sei, sette, otto, nove, dieci! Hey, Daddy, can Monica come play again?"

Sydney had talked non-stop about her new friend since Giovanni had arrived to fetch her. For two children who didn't speak the same language, they had hit it off remarkably well, and spent most of the afternoon teaching each other words from their respective languages.

"Of course she can, sweetheart." Jack poured water over Sydney's head, rinsing the shampoo.

"Can I play at her house?"

"We'll see." Jack reached for a towel. "Okay, you're done."

Sydney stood, resuming her counting as Jack wrapped the towel around her. "Go put your pajamas on; Mommy and I will be there in a minute to say goodnight."

"Okay, Daddy." Sydney skipped to her bedroom, still counting.

Jack let the water drain from the tub, then stood and turned to find Irina watching him from the doorway. There was a glass of wine in her hand, and a seductive smile on her lips. "You going to wash my hair too?"

"I don't know if I should. My wife's around here somewhere."

"I won't tell her if you won't."

Jack stepped towards her. "And what do I get out of this?"

She nipped his earlobe, then whispered exactly what Jack would be getting. His smile widened, desire building with each word she spoke.

"I like this arrangement," he said.

She chuckled. "I thought you might."

"Daddy!" Sydney called.

He groaned. "How long before she falls asleep?"

Irina shrugged and stepped out of Jack's arms. "Let's go tuck her in. We can play later."

"Don't forget I need to take your stitches out as well."

"Yes, Daddy." She set the glass of wine on the bathroom counter then took Jack's hand and led him towards Sydney's bedroom.

* * *

Her stomach muscles contracted under his touch. "Like that?" he asked.

"Mmm." She put her hand over his, guiding him lower. "You missed a spot."

"So sorry." The soap slipped out of his hand, forgotten, and he slid one, then two fingers inside her. She gasped, her head falling back. With his free hand, he traced circles around her nipple, lowering his head to kiss her neck. The bath water was cooling rapidly, but neither felt it.

Irina was already heady from the wine she'd been drinking earlier, but Jack's touch was giving her a different buzz altogether. Almost . . . almost . . .

Not yet. She twisted in his arms, turning until they were face to face.

"Was I doing something wrong?" The look on his face told her he knew exactly what he had been doing.

She shook her head, then leaned forward so that her breasts were brushing his chest. He grabbed her hips, tighter than was necessary, and she smirked. "Is there a problem, Jack?"

"Yes." He lifted her, then resettled her so she was straddling him. Then he took one of her breasts into his mouth, and his hand slipped down the cleft of her ass, his fingers teasing her again. She bucked against him and felt him smile.

"Tease," she said, breathless.

"I just know what you like." Well, that was true.

Two fingers, then three. Irina's eyes fluttered closed.

"Come for me, honey."

"Not. Yet."

"So stubborn."

"Want you inside."

He lowered her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck as they began to move together. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, splashing the floor. They noticed nothing, blind to everything except each other.

"Love you," Jack said, as if from far away.

Irina opened her eyes, kissed him, then smiled. "Love you, too. But you still haven't washed my hair."


	30. Chapter 16

_You know it only breaks my heart  
__To see you standing in the dark alone_

-- Plumb, "Stranded"

* * *

Another piercing scream pulled Jack and Irina from sleep. They found Sydney standing at the window of her room, tugging at the latch.

"Sydney—" Irina stepped towards her, then hesitated, remembering her reaction the night before.

Sydney whirled around, her complexion eerily pale in the moonlight. She looked from Irina to Jack, then smiled in relief. "Daddy, there's a monster under my bed!"

Irina glanced at Jack. An entire conversation took place in the silence, then Irina went to Sydney and Jack knelt next to the bed.

"Daddy, be careful!" Sydney wrapped her arms around Irina's waist but kept her gaze on Jack.

"There's nothing under here, sweetheart." Jack straightened and gave Sydney a reassuring smile. "Come have a look."

Sydney shook her head and pressed herself closer to Irina. "Mommy—"

"It's okay. You don't have to look." Irina frowned at Jack.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Sydney asked.

"Of course, baby."

Sydney's smile faltered when Irina tried to lead her past the bed. She stopped completely, then backed away.

"Sydney, there's nothing there. I promise," Jack said. He picked her up. "It's okay."

Irina cast one more glance around the room before she followed Jack and Sydney out. What kind of monsters had Sydney dreamed, she wondered. The usual monsters that little girls were frightened of, or something else?

In the main bedroom, Sydney snuggled into the space between Jack and Irina. She didn't sleep immediately, though, instead rolling onto her side to face Irina. "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do." Irina brushed her fingers over Sydney's cheek.

Sydney ran her hand along Irina's arm and she slowly pushed the sleeve of Irina's shirt up, baring the scar of her recent gunshot wound. The skin was pink; Jack had only removed the stitches earlier that evening. Sydney traced the mark gently, her fingertips hardly touching Irina's skin. She blinked; once, twice, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "Mommy?"

"It's okay, baby." Irina pulled Sydney into her arms and kissed her forehead.

"How'd you hurt your arm, Mommy? I dreamed—"

"It was just a dream, sweetheart. It's okay."

"Mommy, I—"

"Baby, it's okay," Irina repeated.

"Did I--?"

"No, honey. No." Irina rubbed her hand over Sydney's back. "Go back to sleep."

Jack propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Irina. He said nothing, then bent forward and kissed the top of Sydney's head. "Go to sleep, sweetheart."

* * *

Children's laughter filtered in through the open kitchen window; Monica had come to play again. Irina felt Jack's gaze on her, and looked up from the sandwiches she had been preparing for lunch. He was standing just inside the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his chest. He said nothing, so Irina resumed making lunch.

After a few minutes passed in silence, Irina couldn't bear it any more, and looked up again. "What was I supposed to tell her?" she demanded, placing the knife on the table with more force than was necessary. "That it wasn't a dream?"

Jack's eyes flicked to the floor as he exhaled, the air escaping with a hiss through his teeth. "I don't know."

"She's a little girl. She doesn't need this." Irina blinked back sudden tears, managing to speak past the lump in her throat.

Jack quietly crossed to her, then hugged her from behind, the embrace tight. "Arvin Sloane will pay for this."

"We can't stay here. We need to get back out there; find Arvin, find Nadia."

"We're going to have to work differently than before, now that we have Sydney." There was a note in Jack's voice that told Irina he'd already given this much thought. She leaned back against him and waited for him to continue.

"I think we'll be safe here for a while," he said. "It'll be good for Sydney – the fewer disruptions, the better."

There was more laughter from outside, nearer the window this time, and Irina smiled. "Okay."

"One of us will have to stay with her while the other follows up a lead."

"Jack—"

"We'll take turns, depending on the lead."

She relaxed; he was already thinking a step ahead of her.

Sydney entered the kitchen just then, followed by Monica. Both girls were flushed from the sun, but grinning broadly. "We're hungry, Mommy. Is lunch ready?"

"Almost. Why don't you girls wash up while I finish." She repeated the suggestion in Italian for Monica's benefit. "Jack."

He pressed a kiss to her neck, then released her. "Everything's going to be okay."

It was something they were telling each other a lot these days, she thought. She only hoped it was the truth.

* * *

Jack and Irina woke the next morning to find Sydney lying between them. She had crawled into bed sometime the previous night, somehow managing to do it without waking either of her parents. Irina propped herself up on an elbow and looked across at Jack, then smiled when she realized they had not been woken by Sydney's scream, which possibly meant she had not had a nightmare.

Or, at least, not the nightmare that had been bothering her every night since they'd arrived.

Jack gently squeezed Sydney's shoulder. "Morning, sweetheart."

Sydney mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over to bury her face in the pillow.

Jack sat up, then leaned over Sydney to give Irina a kiss. "Morning."

"Hi." She bumped her nose against his, then kissed him again quickly. She looked down at Sydney, then pulled down the covers and tickled Sydney's side.

Sydney's reaction was immediate. She curled up, giggling, and squealed, "No, Mommy!"

"No?" Irina bent her head to Sydney's ear and whispered a suggestion to Sydney. Then she climbed out of bed and walked around to Jack's side. He looked at her suspiciously, but said nothing.

She waited for Sydney to scramble out of the way, then pushed Jack onto his back and straddled him. Sydney immediately began tickling him.

"You are a bad influence on our daughter," he said while struggling to free himself.

"Get him on his feet, Sydney." Irina smiled down at Jack, feeling him buck underneath her as Sydney did what she'd asked.

"Sydney, I think it's Mommy's turn." Jack flipped her off him, then immediately pinned her to the bed with his body.

She glared at him; she was more ticklish than he was, and as Sydney began tickling her feet, she hissed, "I'll get you for this!"

"You started." Jack nipped her earlobe, then whispered, "But I look forward to your revenge."

He moved off of her as Sydney crawled back onto the bed and flopped down next to her parents. She was grinning.

"Did you sleep okay?" Irina asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"Any bad dreams?"

"Nope."

"Well, then – why didn't you sleep in your own bed, sweetheart?"

Sydney sat up. "'Cause there's a monster in my room," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

"Baby, there's nothing there—"

"There is too." Sydney frowned. "It wants to steal me away again."

Irina tucked Sydney's hair behind her ear, the gesture more out of a desire for contact than any need to neaten Sydney's appearance. "Sydney, we're not going to let anything happen to you."

Sydney looked solemnly from Irina to Jack. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Come here, honey." Jack held his arms open and Sydney climbed onto his lap. "Everything's going to be okay."

In an attempt to lighten the suddenly somber mood that had fallen on them, Irina said, "Guess what you're doing today, sweetheart?"

"What?"

"Daddy's going to take you to Monica's house to play."

Sydney's grin was instantaneous. "Really?"

"Yes."

When are we going, Daddy?"

"After breakfast."

Before Jack finished speaking, Sydney was already halfway to the door. She stopped, turned, then put her hands on her hips. "What's for breakfast, Mommy?"

Irina stood up and held out her hand for Jack. "Come on; the boss has spoken."

* * *

"You'll stay for lunch, won't you, Signor?" Francesca's fingers brushed against Jack's as she handed him a glass of water.

"Uh, no." Jack frowned, then added, "Thanks."

Francesca smiled. "How long are you planning to stay in Italy?"

Jack took a sip of water and glanced out the window; Sydney and Monica were playing in the garden. "We're not sure."

Francesca picked a grape up from the plate on the table and popped it into her mouth. Jack resisted the urge to look at his watch. Francesca's behaviour was making him uncomfortable – though he wasn't even sure if she was consciously coming onto him, or if this was just her natural behaviour. He guessed her to be in her late teens, perhaps no more than twenty.

An older woman entered the kitchen, speaking rapidly in Italian, and the change in Francesca's demeanor was immediate. She jumped to her feet, replied to the woman, then picked up a basket and left the room.

The woman grinned at Jack, her teeth white in her tanned face. "I'm Carmen. You must be Valerie's father."

Jack nodded.

"Yes. You're Monica's mother?"

Carmen sat down. "Monica's the youngest. I have six children: Franco and Mario work for their uncle Milo in Sicily; Isabella's a novice in Rome; you've met Francesca, Giovanni and Monica."

Jack smiled more out of politeness than interest. He was out of practice at making small talk. "Uh, what about your husband?"

She waved her hand in the direction of the door. "Antony's in the vineyard today. He'll be home for lunch; you can meet him then."

"Oh, I can't stay for lunch."

Carmen frowned, and Jack quickly continued before she could speak.

"My wife's waiting."

"You should have brought her with you." Carmen sighed, then stood, and began gathering things on the table: loaves of bread, cheese, meat, lettuce and tomatoes. She made four large sandwiches, then wrapped them and put them in a basket. She added fruit to the basket, then disappeared into the pantry, returning with a bottle of wine, which was also added to the basket. During all this, she kept up a running commentary about her life and her family, and by the time she pressed the basket into Jack's hands, he knew more than he had ever wanted to know about the Bianchis.

"Thank you."

Carmen smiled, then winked. "Now, you go back to your wife. Francesca will bring Valerie back later this afternoon."

Jack wasn't sure Carmen would accept no for an answer. He looked outside; Sydney and Monica had their heads bent together and were giggling at something.

"Okay," Jack said.

* * *

"I checked up on the Sloanes for you," Katya said. "Emily Sloane has gone back to Los Angeles; Arvin Sloane has disappeared."

Irina leaned against the side of the phone booth, her fingers tightening around the receiver. "Disappeared."

"Word is, he's involved with one of the Rambaldi groups."

"I wish I'd never heard that name."

"You're not the only one." Katya sighed. "How is Sydney?"

"She's okay, considering what she's been through." Explaining everything would take up more time than they had. "You're sure Emily went back to the US alone?"

"Yes. But I'll contact someone over there who can check."

"Thank you."

There was a pause. "And how are you, Ira?"

It was a question Irina didn't know how to answer. "I'll be fine when we find Nadia."

Another pause. "There are rumours that some of these so-called Knights of Rambaldi will be meeting in Palermo this month." Katya relayed the rest of the details, then added, "Be careful, Ira. These people are all insane; there's no telling what they'll do if you try to come between them and their precious prophecies."

"Thank you, Katya." Irina hung up, then stepped out into the sunlight. Katya's words left her chilled; the feeling stayed with her all the way back to the farm.

* * *

"So, I think the oldest two Bianchi boys are in the mafia," Jack said over lunch.

"What?"

"Sicily."

Irina looked at Jack. "You've lost me, sweetheart."

"Sicily. The mafia."

She smiled and sipped the wine Carmen had sent. "Okay."

"The oldest daughter's a nun."

Irina smiled. "So, two sons in the mafia, and a nun."

"And I think Francesca was flirting with me." His ears turned pink.

Irina leaned back in the chair. "Really?"

He nodded. "Jealous?"

"I don't know. Do you think she's pretty?"

"Yes, she's pretty—"

Irina frowned.

"—but nowhere near as beautiful as you."

"That's better." Irina took another sip of wine.

Jack smiled. "You know, Sydney'll only be back later this afternoon."

Irina raised an eyebrow and Jack's smile widened. "I see," she said. Then she ran her hand over the wooden table, almost caressing it. "How strong is this table?"

"Want to find out?"

Irina slowly stood, and cleared the table without once looking at Jack. Then she quietly slipped off her shoes, and crossed to stand in front of Jack, stepping between his chair and the table. "Sure," she said. "Let's find out."


	31. Chapter 17a

_If human love does not carry a man beyond himself, it is not love. If love is always discreet, always wise, always sensible and calculating, never carried beyond itself, it is not love at all. It may be affection, it may be warmth of feeling, but it has not the true nature of love in it._ – Oswald Chambers, "My Utmost for His Highest"

* * *

"Palermo." Jack stood at the window, his back to Irina. When he turned to face her, the moonlight shone from behind him, masking his face from view.

"I'd like to go, Jack."

He was silent for a long time.

Irina slid off the edge of the bed and slowly walked to Jack. "If I go, then you could continue to work with Sydney, try to fix whatever Arvin did to her."

Jack raised his hand and stroked her cheek with his fingers. "What if this is just another dead end? I don't want you risking your life for nothing."

"What if it's not?"

Jack looked away. "Maybe we could try to reach your father; see if he knows something else—"

"My father is dead."

"Irina, he told us where Sydney was."

"All my life I believed he was this perfect man, that he'd died a hero for his country – and all along he was still alive, chasing this ridiculous prophecy. How do we know he really wants to help us?"

"Because he's your father, and I believe that would be true in any circumstance. He did all of that to protect you." Jack sighed and he ran a hand through his hair. "I just know that there is nothing I wouldn't do to protect Sydney and Nadia, and I have to believe that the same is true for your father."

"You believe him, then."

"Yes."

Irina felt swept up in myriad emotions: disappointment, bitterness, anger, betrayal. She wasn't sure which was strongest. She remembered the tears her mother had tried to hide whenever someone mentioned her father's name, remembered stories about a brave man who had loved his family, remembered black and white photographs tattered with age. And she remembered a man standing in a room in Venice, calmly telling her he'd done all of it for her.

"Then you go ahead and contact him," she said, turning back to the bed. "I'm going to Palermo."

"Irina—"

"Don't, Jack." She crawled into bed, pulling the sheets over her. A moment later she felt the mattress shift as Jack climbed onto it. He touched her shoulder, but she remained silent.

"Irina—"

The door creaked open, and Sydney stuck her head through the gap. "Can I sleep with you? The monster's still under my bed."

Irina moved to make space between her and Jack. "Of course you can, sweetheart."

Jack gave her a look that said _we're not done talking_.

All she said was, "Goodnight, Jonathon."

* * *

Breakfast was a tense affair. Irina all but ignored Jack, and when she did speak to him, she was too polite. Sydney sat at the table in silence, looking from one parent to the other instead of eating.

Irina sat next to Sydney. "Sweetheart, Mommy needs to go away for a few days."

"Mommy, no—"

"I have to go, honey. I need to meet someone who might help me find your sister."

"But what if you don't come back?" Sydney spoke almost too softly to be heard.

"I promise I'm coming back."

"No!" Sydney twisted around in her seat. "Daddy, tell Mommy not to go!"

"Mommy's right, Sydney. And this might help us find Nadia." He looked at Irina as he spoke.

Irina smiled at him from across the table, her first real smile of the morning. "It's only for a few days." She looked at Sydney again. "And you're going to have so much fun with Daddy you won't even notice I'm not here."

Sydney remained unconvinced. "I don't want you to go."

"Baby, we have to keep looking for Nadia."

"You can't go away!" Sydney hopped off the chair and ran out of the kitchen.

Irina stood up, intending to follow her, but she stopped when Jack said her name. She hesitated, then turned to face him. He looked as tired as she felt; neither of them had slept very well the previous night.

"You're right to go," Jack said. "I just – I'm worried. That's all. I'm not used to being the one staying behind."

"I can look after myself."

"I know." He sighed. "But I – I can't lose you."

Irina walked towards him. She brushed her hand over the back of his head, then leaned down and kissed him. "You won't."

"I love you."

* * *

"Can I play with Monica today?" Sydney asked.

"This afternoon, maybe. This morning's for you and me." Jack smiled at her. "We're going to play that game again. Do you remember?"

Sydney nodded. "It's boring. I want to play with Monica."

She had been testy since Irina's departure earlier; too old to throw a tantrum, she had sulked for hours. She was also being deliberately contrary, and there was a challenging look in her eyes that Jack was very familiar with. She really was her mother's daughter, he thought, blind to the fact that he could also be stubborn.

"If you don't behave yourself, you won't get to play with her at all."

Sydney's scowl worsened.

"Now, I want you to close your eyes and count slowly to ten—"

"No." Sydney jumped to her feet. "I won't do it and you can't make me!"

"Sydney—"

"You're just like Uncle Arvin!" Sydney ran out of the living room.

For a moment, Jack was too stunned to react. But then he followed her, chasing her out of the house and into the garden. "Sydney, sweetheart, come back."

"No, Daddy!"

He stopped. "I'm not going to make you do anything. I promise. Just come back into the house, okay?"

Sydney reached the end of the path and stopped running. She turned around. "I want to go play with Monica."

"Okay, but let's talk first." Jack sat on the porch steps. "We can sit right here and talk."

Sydney watched him, then slowly started walking back towards the house.

"Sweetheart, can you tell me what you meant about –" he almost choked on the words "—Uncle Arvin?"

"I didn't want to play that game, but he made me."

"What game?"

Sydney sat on the bottommost step, her feet making random scuffmarks in the dirt. She didn't look at Jack as she spoke, her tone taking on a note of guilt. Jack resisted the urge to scoop her into his arms; she had not done anything wrong.

"The counting game," she said. "And then he'd give me puzzles and stuff. One time – Daddy, I think he taught me how to use a gun."

"A gun." Jack wanted to kill Arvin Sloane.

Sydney shrugged. "My hands got all dirty afterwards. I don't think I was s'posed to remember. He told me not to tell Aunt Emily."

"Sweetheart, did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. Then, her voice dipping so soft Jack had to strain to hear, "He told me I was his special girl. He told me to call him Daddy, and my name was Julia."

"Sydney, come here."

She stayed where she was. "Are you mad at me, Daddy?"

"No, honey, why would I be mad at you?"

"You sound mad."

"I'm mad at Uncle Arvin, not you."

Sydney finally looked at him, and the expression on her face almost broke Jack's heart. He opened his arms, inviting a hug. A moment later, Sydney scrambled to her feet and launched herself at him.

"Daddy, I'm scared."

"There's nothing to be scared of, sweetheart."

"What if Mommy doesn't come back?"

"Mommy's going to be fine," Jack said, and hoped he sounded more certain than he felt.


	32. Chapter 17b

"I'm sorry things turned out this way," Arvin Sloane said. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, pointing a gun at Jack. Irina lay on the floor between them, her lifeless eyes staring up the ceiling. Sydney knelt next to her mother's body, sobbing as she pressed her hands helplessly to Irina's bloody chest.

"Wake up, Mommy! Wake up!"

"Sydney, it's time to go," Sloane said.

"No!" Jack stepped forward, but before he could do anything else, Sloane fired again. One, two, three. Jack stumbled backwards, realization coming slowly. He touched his chest, surprised when his fingers came away stained red. "No—"

He sat up in bed, his heart pounding wildly. His hands instinctively moved to his chest – nothing. He glanced down: Sydney was curled up on her mother's side of the bed, sleeping peacefully.

Just a nightmare.

He released a shaky breath, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. There was no chance he'd go back to sleep now. Slowly, so as not to wake Sydney, he opened the bedside drawer and took out his gun. Since he was up, he thought, he might as well take a look around and double-check that everything was secure.

He felt a distinct lack of surprise when he discovered Arkady Derevko sitting at the large kitchen table, paging through Jack and Irina's photo album. Jack knew better than to let the other man realize he trusted him just yet, and so he raised the gun. Arkady looked up and smiled. The lamplight bathed the room in a soft yellow glow, and as Jack studied Arkady, he could see Irina in his features.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to prevent Irina from going to Palermo, but it seems I'm too late."

"How did you know she was going?"

"I knew one of you would go. You believe you'll find Nadia there."

"Is she there?"

"No."

"Where is she then?"

"She's safe."

"That's not good enough."

Arkady looked down at the album. "It has to be. Sometimes you need to sacrifice what you love—"

"Spare me." Jack suddenly felt contempt for Arkady. "Just because you could abandon your family doesn't mean—"

"Irina doesn't know what she's walking into. This isn't a game, Jack. These people believe in Rambaldi – enough that they'll do anything to ensure his prophecies come true." He sighed, and for a moment looked much older than he actually was. "I'm afraid it might even be too late for Irina."

Jack crossed to the table and sat down. "Tell me everything; no more holding back. If you lie to me, and if I lose Irina, I'll kill you."

Arkady looked at him, his lips twitching slightly. "You really love her." He sounded almost surprised.

Jack cocked the gun. "Start talking."

* * *

Irina ducked her head as she hurried along the Via Maqueda. Dressed conservatively, a black shawl covering her hair, she could have been any woman leaving church after mass. She kept her eyes on the man she was following – he was the last person she had expected to find here, and it had taken all of her self-control not to shoot him on sight. Instead she was following him, certain that he would lead her where she needed to go.

Arvin Sloane strolled casually past the Chiesa di San Giuseppe, past the Oratorio di San Giuseppe dei Falegnami, past Casa Mortana, looking appreciatively at the architecture of each. Irina forced herself to slow down; she couldn't afford to let him catch her.

Then he stopped at a building just next to the Chiesa di San Nicolo da Tolentino: the building that held the public records archives. Irina watched as he went inside; she waited as long as she dared before following.

Sloane was talking to a smartly-dressed woman when Irina entered.

"Si, signor, I believe we have the documents you're interested in." The woman smiled as she held out a visitor's badge. "If you'll follow me . . ."

Irina waited until they'd left before she approached the front desk. "Excuse me," she said, a British accent colouring her words, "I called a few days ago about some Rambaldi manuscripts."

The young man behind the desk looked up at her. "I'm sorry, signora—"

"Oh, it's signorina." Irina winked. "I spoke to a woman, though I'm afraid I've forgotten her name. She said the manuscripts were here."

"Ah. I see." He flushed slightly. "But I'm afraid those are very sensitive manuscripts—"

Irina leaned forward, putting her hand over the newspaper he had been reading. He glanced down, and his eyes widened as he saw the mark of Rambaldi at the base of her thumb and forefinger.

"I'd be very grateful," Irina said.

"I – ah – si, signorina." He fumbled in the drawer for a visitor's badge and held it out. "I'll take you to them now."

Irina smiled, her fingers brushing his as she took the badge. She clipped it to her blouse. "Thank you."

The tattoo had been Katya's idea. If Irina was going to sneak into a meeting of Rambaldi followers, bearing their mark might save her life if things went wrong. Earlier, as Irina had sat in her hotel room waiting for the henna to dry on her skin, she wondered if Katya wasn't being too paranoid.

Now, following the young man towards a room full of Rambaldi documents, Irina reminded herself to thank Katya later.

She smiled once more at her guide before opening the room and stepping inside.

"Arvin," she said coldly, "how nice to see you again."


	33. Chapter 18a

_Hope and Faith  
__And the goodness of grace  
__I'll need you to let me  
__Go my way_

-- Plumb, "Go"

* * *

Arvin Sloane looked up, surprise flashing across his features for a brief moment. He smiled. "Irina. Well, this is unexpected."

She removed the gun she'd hidden beneath her blouse and aimed it at him. Instead of the reaction she was expecting, his smile widened, his eyes focused on her hand.

She understood, and realized she'd just been handed the chance to save her family.

"How long have you been a believer?" Sloane spoke quietly, but there was a new warmth in his voice.

Irina didn't lower the weapon. "You think because we have something in common that we're suddenly friends?"

"We used to be."

"I never liked you."

Sloane shrugged. "How's Jack?"

"I don't want to hear you mention his name again."

"Sydney's with him, I assume?"

"Don't mention her name either."

Sloane leaned back in his chair. "You know, there was a time I thought you really loved him. But you lied to him – betrayed him – for ten years. Betrayed that little girl, too." He smiled, serpent-like. "So don't stand there and pretend you're any better than I am."

Irina tilted her head. "How's Emily these days?"

A frown crossed Sloane's face for only a moment, then his expression cleared and he smiled knowingly. "Does Jack know where you are now? What you're doing?"

When she didn't reply, Sloane's smile widened. "I thought not."

Irina slowly lowered the weapon. She was tempted to just shoot Sloane now and be done with him, but something in her cautioned against it. For the time being, she would pretend she bought into Rambaldi's prophecies. If Sloane could get her closer to Nadia, then she would play nice until she had her daughter back.

"I have a proposition for you," Sloane said, and he slid the manuscript across the table. "I'm sure you'll find it worth your while."

Irina smiled, and sat down. "I'm listening."

* * *

Irina readjusted her shawl so that it hung over her shoulders and followed Sloane up the steps of an old building. They'd been driving for an hour and Irina now had no idea where they were, though she guessed they hadn't left Palermo.

As Irina stepped through the doorway, she felt someone grab her arms from behind, and she was roughly shoved against the wall. Fighting back was instinctive, and she heard a hiss of pain as her elbow connected with her attacker's sternum.

"Relax, Irina. We just want to make sure you're not armed." Sloane held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

"Of course I'm armed." Irina glared at him, then fixed her shawl. "Couldn't you have just asked?"

Sloane smiled.

The man who'd pushed Irina against the wall looked at her expectantly. She handed him her gun, saying, "Try not to lose it. I'll want it back."

"This way," Sloane said, and led Irina down the hall.

They entered a large room, its walls lined with bookshelves. The chairs were arranged in a circle in the centre of the room. There were already five people inside, none of whom Irina had met before. All of them looked at her with suspicion.

"It's my pleasure to introduce Irina Derevko," Sloane said, and Irina watched the others' expressions change slightly. They still looked wary, but there was something else. Fear? Irina couldn't be certain.

Sloane went on to introduce them: Hans Koch, standing at the window smoking a cigar; Aletta Belot, sitting regally on one of the chairs; next to her Sarah Kingsbury, looking the most wary; an unsmiling woman Sloane called 'La Contessa'; and Andrian Lazarey, his gaze appraising.

"Derevko," Sarah said. "We were under the impression you had no interest in joining us."

Irina slowly crossed the room and sat down on one of the empty chairs. "And what would make you think something like that?"

"Well, we thought you were dead." Aletta lit a cigarette, then smiled. "But I can see now we were misinformed."

Irina didn't smile. "I'm not an easy woman to kill."

"Apparently not." Aletta looked at Sloane. "Where is the child?"

"She won't tell me."

"Let's get one thing clear," Irina said. "I don't trust any of you. I know you don't trust me. Right now there is one thing I can tell you, and that is that my daughter is not Rambaldi's Chosen One."

"How would you know that?" Sarah asked.

By now Andrian Lazarey was smiling broadly. He answered before Irina could: "Because you are."

She nodded.

'La Contessa' rose to her feet. "Well, then, that calls for a celebration."

* * *

Irina stood at the window of the room she'd been told she could use. Lights shone in the distance, their reflections flickering on the water. Irina shivered, though she was not cold. Twisting her wedding ring with her thumb, she let her thoughts turn to Jack. She wanted him with her; over the last few months she had grown used to working with him. He was the one person she could fully trust; she had always known they were a good match, but looking for Sydney and Nadia had served to show just how well-matched they really were. She missed him.

But Sydney needed him now, and she would need him even more if Irina's suspicion that she might never see them again was proven correct. These weren't the Knights of Rambaldi that Arkady Derevko had spoken about; these people didn't want to protect the Chosen one – they wanted to use her. Irina still wasn't certain she actually believed any of Rambaldi's prophecies, but she knew she would do whatever it took to keep Sloane and his friends away from Sydney. She would do anything to find Nadia.

Anything.

There was a knock on the door, startling Irina from her thoughts. She quickly brushed her cheeks with the back of her hand, drying tears she hadn't realized had fallen, as she turned around and said, "Yes?"

The door slowly swung open; a moment later 'La Contessa' stepped into the room. Her gaze was appraising, almost challenging. Irina raised her chin, meeting the other woman's stare with a challenge of her own.

'La Contessa' smiled. "Settling in alright?"

Irina nodded.

"Dinner's ready. I came to show you to the dining room."

They left the room in silence. Irina studied her companion as they walked down the hall; 'La Contessa' carried herself as if she really was royalty, but there was a coldness to her that came from something else. Obsession? Irina couldn't be sure; all she knew for certain was that this was a woman not to be crossed.

Then again, Irina thought, hiding her smile; neither was she.

Everyone was already in the dining room when the two of them entered. 'La Contessa' took the seat at the head of the table, leaving the only empty seat next to Sloane. Irina didn't let her displeasure show as she sat down.

Sloane was smiling at her.

"What?"

"I'm just thinking how nice it's going to be, working with you."

"Nice." Irina drew the word out. "I can think of far more accurate adjectives."

Sloane chuckled. "I've missed your sense of humour."

Irina thought longingly of the knife strapped to her thigh and imagined plunging it into Sloane's heart. Before this was over, she vowed, she would have revenge for Jack and Sydney.

"Tell me, Irishka," Lazarey interrupted. "When did you realize you were the Chosen One?"

All conversation stopped, and everyone turned to look at Irina.

"Don't call me that." She glared at Lazarey before turning her attention to the others. Calmly, confidently, she said, "I knew as soon as I read the first of the manuscripts."

"You just 'knew'." Aletta's tone was of disbelief.

Irina's smile was almost mocking. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Do you even know what the role of the Chosen One is?"

Irina arched an eyebrow. "Do you?"

Sloane put his hand on Irina's arm as if to calm her, but removed it as soon as she turned her glare on him.

"Let's not spoil dinner with this kind of talk," 'La Contessa' said. "We have plenty of time to discuss this later."

Aletta looked at Irina for a moment, then nodded.

It wasn't long before Irina began to feel light-headed, almost drunk. She never got drunk on only one glass of wine, and it was with growing horror that she realized what a terrible mistake she'd made in coming here.

She stood up, grabbing the back of the chair as the room suddenly appeared to tilt on its axis. Sloane was at her side immediately, his hands on her upper arms. "It's okay," he said. "I've got you."

She tried to speak, but her tongue felt too thick in her mouth and the words wouldn't form.

_Jack, Sydney, Nadia. I'm sorry_.

She heard the roar of the ocean in her ears, then a black veil swept down over her vision, and she knew no more.


	34. Chapter 18b

"Daddy, when's Mommy coming back?"

It wasn't yet noon, and probably the twentieth time Sydney had asked the question. "Soon, sweetheart," Jack answered as he had answered nineteen times before.

This time Sydney wasn't satisfied with that answer. She put down the doll she'd been playing with and crossed the room to stand in front of Jack. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Promise?"

"Promise what?"

"Do you promise she's coming back soon?"

"Sweetheart—" Jack reached for Sydney, but she took a step backwards.

"What if – what if she doesn't come back?"

"She'll come back, baby."

"Signor? Signor?" A voice came from outside.

Jack opened the door and found Giovanni standing in front of the house. The youth smiled shyly. "Good morning, Signor. My mother has invited you and your family for lunch today."

"Uh, thanks but—"

Sydney rushed out of the house, skipping down the steps. "Bon giorno, Giovanni! Daddy, can I go play with Monica?"

Jack hesitated, but Sydney was so eager to see her friend, and Monica might be able to distract her from wondering about her mother. "Okay."

"Thank you, Daddy!"

Jack gave Giovanni an awkward smile. "Tell your mother, 'thank you'. We'll come for lunch."

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly; her limbs felt strangely heavy, her throat was dry, there was a dull ache in her arms. Irina opened her eyes and saw that she was in a bedroom. Feeling slightly nauseous, she tried to sit up – and found that she couldn't move. Cool metal cut into her wrists, and she realized the ache in her arms was because she was cuffed to the headboard of the bed. She tugged uselessly on the cuffs, then sighed, silently cursing herself for her stupidity.

She should have known better than to trust Sloane, but she thought she'd finally gotten close to a lead on Nadia. She'd been careless, and now she was trapped.

The door creaked as it swung open, and Sloane entered the room smiling. "You're awake."

She glared at him.

"I'm sorry about this, Irina; I really am." He dragged a chair to the side of the bed and sat down. "You're in no danger at the moment."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Sloane shrugged and settled against the back of the chair. "I can't unlock the handcuffs. I'm sorry."

"Of course."

"I was hoping we could have a moment in private. I wanted to talk to you."

Irina sighed again at the double injustice of being cuffed to a bed, and then being forced into conversation with Sloane.

"I was surprised to learn of your real identity," Sloane said. "I always thought you really loved Jack. You know, he really didn't deserve what you did to him."

"You were the one who sold him out to Cuvee!"

Sloane smiled. "I shouldn't have. I wish I could tell him how much I regret it."

Irina closed her eyes and willed Sloane to go away.

* * *

Sydney skipped up the path to the Bianchi house, humming under her breath. Jack followed at a slower pace, his attention solely on Sydney. He was glad to see her so happy; sometimes he wondered if the events of the last few months would force her to grow up too soon. Then there were moments like these, in which she was still very much a little girl.

Carmen Bianchi came out of the house and greeted them with kisses. Before Jack had time to protest, Carmen had ushered him and Sydney inside.

"Hello, Jack."

Jack froze and a grim smile settled on his face as he studied at the man seated at the kitchen table. "Somehow, I'm not surprised to see you here."

"You wanted to know the whole truth," Arkady Derevko said. He poured wine into an empty glass, then slid it across the table and gestured for Jack to sit. "I was less than honest with you last night, but there were some things I couldn't tell you. Stories that were not mine to tell."

Jack grabbed Sydney's hand. "Stories that weren't yours? That's just a convenient excuse for not saying anything."

"Signor Bristow," Carmen said, "let him explain."

Carmen's use of his real name shocked Jack into silence. Sydney, who had been repeatedly told why it was important to use different names here, tightened her grip on Jack's hand and stepped closer to him.

"You're safe here," Arkady said. "I promise."

"Monica's in her bedroom," Carmen continued. "Why don't you go play with her, Sydney?"

Sydney looked up at Jack, wide-eyed and frightened. He squeezed her hand to reassure her.

"I've found out where Irina is," Arkady said, and Jack's decision was made.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Go play with Monica."

"But—"

"I'll be right here."

Sydney nodded, then slowly turned and left the kitchen, all traces of her earlier excitement gone. Jack sat at the table.

"She's in more trouble than I thought," Arkady said without preamble.

Jack's blood ran cold.

"I was mistaken in what I told you last night; she wasn't with the Knights after all. She met Arvin Sloane instead; he took her to a meeting of Rambaldi followers who broke off from the rest of us a few years ago. If they believe that Irina is the Chosen One, then she's in danger."

"Why? I thought you all believed the Chosen One was important." Jack still didn't believe any of this nonsense about the Chosen One was true, but he'd given up arguing about it. What did it matter anyway? The only things that mattered to him were keeping Sydney safe, getting Irina back and finding Nadia.

Arkady sighed, and suddenly looked every bit as old as he was. "Because the Chosen One is the only thing standing between this group and what they want."

"Which is?"

"Immortality."

Jack shook his head. "That's insane."

"Maybe so, but they believe it."

"So what do you suggest?"

Carmen stepped forward. "My boys will meet you in Palermo."

Jack had almost forgotten she was in the room. He turned to look at her. "And how are you involved in all of this?"

She smiled. "Milo Rambaldi had a younger brother, Giovanni."

"You're kidding."

Carmen shook her head. "After Milo Rambaldi's death, Giovanni began collecting his works. He devoted his life to his brother's legacy; after he married, his family did the same."

Jack rubbed his hand over his eyes, feeling the beginnings of headache. To Arkady, he said, "Is this one of the stories that aren't yours to tell?"

"Yes."

He looked at Carmen, his expression hard. "And why should I trust you?"

"Because you have no one else to trust." She smiled warmly. "Sydney will be safe here, I promise you."

Jack rose to his feet. "Wait a minute. What are you talking about?"

"You're not thinking of taking her to Palermo with you?"

Jack knew he couldn't take her, but the thought of leaving her behind . . . Carmen was right; he really had no choice but to trust her.

Didn't he?

Carmen stepped closer to Jack and put her hand on his shoulder. "We will not let anything happen to her, Signor Bristow."

Jack drew in a deep breath as he mentally weighed his options. Sydney needed him. Irina's life was in danger.

"Trust me, Jack," Arkady said.

Jack remembered defending him to Irina before she'd left, remembered the previous evening's conversation and Arkady's worry that Irina was in over her head, remembered Sydney's tears of worry that her mother wouldn't return.

And he knew that there really was no choice at all.


	35. Chapter 19a

_There are promises broken and promises kept  
__Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept  
__There's a chapter of secrets and words to confess  
__If I lose everything that I possess  
__There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die  
__There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry  
__There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies_

-- Sting, "The Book of My Life"

* * *

Feeling slightly more awake now that the drug had worn off, Irina decided it was time to be proactive. Tugging at the handcuffs wasn't going to get her anywhere, so she gritted her teeth and dislocated her left thumb. Sharp pain raced up her arm and she blinked back tears. Then, slowly, she slid her hand free of the cuffs. The metal clinked against the headboard as she slid her right hand free; until she found a key, she was going to have to keep wearing the cuffs on one wrist. She sat up and looked critically at her left hand. Taking another deep breath, she quickly forced the thumb back into its joint, sending another jolt of pain through her nerves.

She slipped off the bed and looked around the room for a weapon. The knife she'd had strapped to her thigh had been removed, as had the long pin she'd used to keep her hair in its French twist. Fortunately she was still wearing the bracelet that concealed her garrote. She allowed herself a brief moment to fantasize about wrapping the garrote around Sloane's throat.

On the desk was a paperweight; Irina picked it up to test its weight, and gave a satisfied nod. This would come in handy.

Behind her, the door swung open, and she spun around, still holding the paperweight. It went crashing to the floor when she saw who had entered.

"Irina, it's so good to see you again."

"Lena?"

Elena smiled and stepped further inside. Just behind her, Sloane stood smiling.

"You look good," Elena said. "How is Jack?"

"How is Jack?" Irina shook her head. "How dare you? After everything you've done—"

Elena frowned, her attention on the hand Irina was cradling against her chest. "You've hurt your hand. Let me see."

Irina stepped backwards, her hip catching on the edge of the desk. Momentarily distracted, she glanced down. Elena reacted instantly; her hand closed sharply on Irina's elbow and she used her free hand to stick a syringe into Irina's shoulder.

Irina shoved her away, then reached blindly for something to use as a weapon. Her fingers brushed a vase but she never had a chance to pick it up. Elena grabbed her wrists, shaking her head as if she was addressing a small child.

"No, no," Elena said. "You and I need to talk."

Whatever Elena had injected her with was fast-acting; already Irina felt her strength fading. She shook her head, trying to break free of her sister's grasp.

"Stop fighting, Rishka. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Nadia." Irina's tongue felt too thick for her mouth, and it was difficult to form the word.

"Oh, Rishka, you're so stubborn." Elena's tone was affectionate. "You'll see Nadia soon."

Irina collapsed against her sister, and knew no more.

* * *

Looking at Mario and Franco Bianchi, Jack recalled his comment to Irina about them being in the mafia, and hid his smile. They weren't in the mafia after all, but they were Rambaldi followers; to Jack, there wasn't much difference. Carmen had explained that her family were the protectors of a sacred trust, and while Jack still found all of this quite surreal, there was a part of him that was beginning to believe it was true. Not that he was ready to jump on the bandwagon and start believing in all the prophecies, of course.

And as soon as he had his family, he never wanted to hear another word about Milo Rambaldi.

"They are meeting at the home of La Contessa," Franco said. He was shorter than his brother, with a head of thick, curly hair obviously inherited from his mother. Out of the two, he was the more outspoken one.

After the initial introductions, Mario had not said another word. He leaned against the car, his posture slightly too tense to be casual. He was only half-paying attention to the conversation; he scanned the surrounding area, on the alert for anything suspicious.

"Who's there?" Arkady asked.

"La Contessa, Koch, Aletta Belot, Sarah Kingsbury, Arvin Sloane and Lazarey."

"Lazarey." There was an expression on Arkady's face that Jack couldn't read. "I didn't realize he'd become involved in all of this."

Franco drummed his fingers on the roof of the car and an uneasy glance with his brother. "We think he's been involved for quite some time already."

Arkady sighed. "Well, let's hope I don't run into him. Let's go."

The four men climbed into the car.

* * *

The front door was ajar. Arkady and Jack exchanged glances, then slowly climbed the front steps, holding their guns ready. Franco and Mario slipped around to the back. Arkady nodded to Jack, signaling that he would go first, then he nudged the door further open.

The house was quiet.

Too quiet, and the unmistakable scent of blood filled the air.

They found the bodies of a man and two women in the living room; all three had been shot in the head, execution-style.

"Koch, Kingsbury, Belot," Arkady said. Then he stepped forward and closed the eyes of corpses.

A search upstairs revealed another victim in one of the bedrooms. Arkady sighed as he stepped further into the room. This man had not been shot; someone had gutted him

"Lazarey."

Somehow, Lazarey was clinging to life. Jack watched as Arkady knelt beside him. They exchanged a few words too low for Jack to hear, then Arkady held his gun to Lazarey's head and pulled the trigger.

"We were friends once," he said, and Jack sensed that was all the explanation he was going to get. He nodded, and stepped back into the hallway.

Franco was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "We found La Contessa in the garden at the back. She's dead."

"Irina's not here," Jack said. "Neither is Sloane."

Arkady came out of the bedroom. His stoic mask was back in place, but there was a weariness that hadn't been there before. "Elena was here."

Jack's grip on his gun tightened. "Elena?"

Arkady nodded. "Andrian said she came for Irina."

Jack felt numb. Elena had murdered these people. Elena had stolen his children. And now Elena had his wife.


	36. Chapter 19b

Irina woke to the realization that she was no longer in the same room she had been before. Surprisingly, she was not restrained, and the cuff she had been wearing on her right wrist was gone. Someone had even wrapped her left hand in a bandage. Confused, Irina sat up and looked around her. She was in a bedroom, tastefully decorated, and on one wall was a charcoal sketch of the Derevko dacha outside Moscow. Irina felt a sudden pang of homesickness, but quickly pushed it aside.

She stood up and crossed to the door. It was unlocked. Irina warily pulled it open and began her exploration of the rest of the house.

There were two other bedrooms on the upstairs level, as well as a nursery. Irina stood in the doorway of the latter room, blinking back tears when she realized it was empty.

"You're awake," Elena said from behind her.

She whirled around. "Where's Nadia?"

Elena looked at her for a moment, then gestured for her to enter the nursery. "We should talk first."

"I have nothing to say to you."

Elena stepped closer and took Irina's uninjured hand in her own, rubbing her thumb over the tattoo. She smiled. "I never thought you'd believe."

"Is that why you stole my children?" It was an effort not to pull her hand away.

"It had to be done." Elena's tone was free of regret. "Nadia and Sydney cannot be allowed to grow up together."

Irina felt as if she was watching the scene from outside herself. "What?"

"For the prophecy to be fulfilled," Elena continued, "the Chosen One and the Passenger cannot grow up sisters."

Irina remembered the first time she'd heard about that prophecy. Arkady had told them, in Venice, and the horror she'd felt then was nothing compared to what she felt now._ The Chosen One and the Passenger will fight, and only one will survive_.

She felt light-headed; her mouth was dry. She reached for the doorframe to steady herself. "Elena—"

"I know." Elena brushed her hand over Irina's hair. "It's a difficult thing to hear about your children. That's why I took them both, you know; I knew you would never be able to choose between them."

Irina shook her head.

"You could stay here." Elena was smiling again. "Raise Nadia yourself; let Jack raise Sydney."

"What?"

"But you won't." Elena said. "I'll take you to Nadia, but you can't leave with her."

"Because of the prophecy."

Elena nodded. "She's downstairs. Come with me."

Irina followed her sister, no longer paying attention to her surroundings. All she could think was that she would finally see her youngest daughter again, and that Elena was a fool if she thought Irina was leaving without Nadia.

* * *

Jack glanced around the hotel room he was sharing with Arkady. The older man was standing at the window, peering out through a crack in the curtains. They had come here to wait for Arkady's contact to get in touch with them; the Bianchi boys were in the adjoining room. Arkady had said very little since they left the house; Jack couldn't even begin to guess at what he was thinking.

Jack was sitting on one of the twin beds. "Why did you leave your family, Arkady? The truth."

"To protect them." Arkady didn't turn to look at them. "You would have done the same thing in my place."

"Don't be so sure of that."

Now Arkady turned, and there was an expression on his face that bespoke years of pain and anguish. "If your family's lives depended on it, if there was no other way, you would do it."

Could he? Jack wondered. Leave Irina, leave Sydney and Nadia?

Yes, he realized; it would be the hardest thing he could ever be asked to do, but if it kept them safe and alive – then, yes.

He looked away, uncomfortable under Arkady's scrutiny.

"Tell me about Irina," Arkady said after a while. "She seems to have become an exceptional woman."

"She is." He leaned back against the headboard. Arkady was still practically a stranger to him, but as he thought about what it had cost Arkady to protect his family, Jack felt he deserved to hear about his daughter. "I knew she was special from the moment I met her. I couldn't believe my luck when she agreed to go on a date with me."

"Do you still feel that way now? Despite everything that's happened?"

Jack nodded. "I wish she'd trusted me with the truth sooner, but yeah. I love her."

Arkady smiled. "Good."

It was strange, Jack thought; he'd told himself he didn't care what Arkady thought of him, but it was still a good feeling to know he had his father-in-law's approval. "When all this is over," he said, "you should spend some time with us."

Arkady's smile turned bitter. "I don't think Irina would want that."

"Give her time. She – This has been a crazy year. For all of us."

Arkady nodded.

"Besides," Jack added, "I want you to get to know your granddaughters."

Arkady blinked, swallowed, nodded again, then turned back to the window. When he spoke again his voice was gruff. "Thank you."

* * *

At eight months old, Nadia was a chubby, smiling baby with a head of dark curls. She was the spitting image of her mother at that age, and Irina would have known her even without checking for the tiny birthmark on her ankle. She had spent the entire day with her: playing outside in Elena's garden, telling stories, watching over her as she napped. Irina couldn't quite believe that she was really there, and kept touching her, kissing her and stroking her hair.

Elena, surprisingly, let her have the time with Nadia. Irina knew better than to think she wasn't being watched, though, and during Nadia's nap, Irina came up with an escape plan.

She was giving Nadia dinner when Elena entered the kitchen with Sloane. She remained silent, keeping her attention on her daughter.

"You have beautiful children, Irina," Sloane said.

Irina's spine stiffened; Nadia must have picked up on the tension in the room because she started to fuss. Elena moved to pick her up, but stopped when Irina glared in her direction. Elena shrugged, then leaned casually against the counter. Irina lifted Nadia from the high chair then left the room.

Later, after she had put Nadia to bed, she returned to the kitchen to find something to eat. She hadn't wanted to eat the food Elena had prepared; she didn't trust her not to drug it. Better to make something herself.

She was somehow not that surprised to find Elena waiting for her. There was a loaf of bread on the counter; Irina picked up one of the knives and began to cut a slice from it.

"Nadia's beautiful, isn't she?" Elena said. "She's growing so quickly."

Irina's hand tightened on the handle of the knife. She took a deep breath. "Thank you for taking such good care of her."

"She's my niece. I love her."

Irina didn't trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded.

"You should think about staying," Elena said. "I miss you. Nadia misses you."

Irina stopped cutting. She glanced down at her hands, at the mark of Rambaldi on her skin, and she felt ill.


	37. Chapter 20a

_After the rain has fallen  
__After the tears have washed your eyes  
__You'll find that I've taken nothing  
__That love can't replace in the blink of an eye_

-- Sting, "After the rain has fallen"

* * *

Irina waited until the house was completely silent before she slipped out of bed. She quickly changed into the clothes she'd been wearing earlier and tucked the knife she'd stolen from the kitchen into her sleeve. She looked at the picture of the dacha, and felt her resolve strengthen. Before she left, she sat on the edge of the bed and did something she hadn't done in years: she prayed.

Tiptoeing quietly down the hallway, she stopped outside the nursery and slowly pushed the door open. Nadia was fast asleep in the crib. Irina filled a bag with a few diapers, a bottle, and a box of formula. Then, considering, she shoved one of Nadia's teddy bears in the bag before slinging it over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Sloane said.

Irina spun around to face him.

He stepped forward, holding his hands palm upwards. "Irina, you can't take her. Think of the prophecy—"

"I'm sick and tired of this fucking prophecy." Irina let the knife slip from her sleeve, then threw it at Sloane. Her aim was true; the blade lodged in Sloane's Adam's apple. He stared at her in shock for a moment before falling to his knees.

"You deserve a more painful death," Irina said, "but I don't have time for that."

Sloane gasped, holding his hands to his throat as blood bubbled from the wound. He fell face-down on the ground, the impact driving the knife completely through his neck.

Irina looked at him for a moment, and thought of how he'd hurt her family. First, he'd betrayed Jack and sold him to Cuvee, then he'd stolen Sydney and tried to brainwash her into thinking she was his. She wanted to feel nothing at his death, but she also remembered a time when he was Jack's best friend.

Now was not the time to think about this; that would come later. Now she needed to escape.

Irina turned to lift Nadia from the crib. She shielded her from the view of the body as they left the room.

There was a man she didn't recognize on the stairs, and she assumed he was one of Elena's lackeys. She stared at him; the only other weapon she had on her was the garrote in her bracelet, but to use that she would have to put Nadia down.

It didn't seem like she had another choice.

Fortunately, he had his back to her. Irina stepped back into the nursery, put Nadia and the bag in the crib, then went out again.

The man was at the top of the stairs now. Irina acted immediately; before he could do anything, the garrote was around his neck and she was squeezing—

"Irina!"

Jack, at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at her. Then, his smile faded as he ran up, taking the steps two at a time. "Hey, it's okay. He's with me."

"What?" Irina released the garrote and the man fell against the banister, gasping for breath. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?" Jack brushed his fingers over her cheek.

"Yeah." She smiled. "Nadia's here."

"Really? Where?"

As she turned back to the nursery, a shot rang out. Irina's chest felt warm but she didn't immediately realize she'd been hit. Her knees gave in; she lurched forward and would have landed on the floor if Jack hadn't caught her. He lowered her to the ground, kneeling beside her, and he was still leaning over her, pressing his hands to her chest when there was a second shot.

Irina was vaguely aware of Jack's worried expression, Nadia crying in the background and suddenly her father was there as well.

"Hang on, sweetheart; you'll be okay," Jack was saying.

"Papa? . . . Jack, oh, Jack . . . Sorry . . ."

"You're going to be fine, Irina."

Arkady knelt, bending his head to whisper to her, making it an order: "You will not die."

Irina closed her eyes.

* * *

Jack had told Arkady that he had known Irina was special the moment he met her. Even now, all these years later, he remembered that meeting as if it was just yesterday. He'd been hurrying to class, not paying attention to where he was going, and had practically mowed her down. She had been lost in a book, and hadn't seen him coming. They'd laughed, he'd asked her out, and that had been that.

Now, sitting in a Sicilian hospital, waiting for the surgeon to tell him if his wife was going to live, Jack couldn't help but think back on their life together.

Don't die, he thought; don't die.

Nadia was sitting on the floor, playing with bright-coloured blocks, oblivious to the danger Irina was in. In the chaos that followed the shooting, Jack had momentarily forgotten Nadia was in the house. It was Franco Bianchi, his neck still red from Irina's garrote, who had fetched her from the nursery while Mario checked Elena for signs of life.

Jack suddenly realized he hadn't seen Arkady since they'd arrived at the hospital. He wasn't surprised Arkady wanted time alone; both his daughters were in surgery.

Jack still couldn't quite believe that Arkady had been the one who shot Elena. He'd thought it was one of the Bianchis, but Mario had quietly pulled him aside to tell him the truth.

He watched Nadia play, then sat on the floor next to her and picked up one of the blocks. "Hey, sweetheart."

Nadia tilted her head up at him, then grinned.

"You don't need to worry about a thing," Jack said. "Mommy's going to be just fine."

Nadia lifted a block to her mouth and sucked on the corner.

"And soon you're going to see your sister again. She misses you a lot."

Nadia let the block fall to the ground, then crawled onto Jack's lap and reached for the block he was holding. Jack let her take it. She immediately began sucking on the corner.

"Hungry, sweetheart?" Jack reached for the bag Mario had packed; he took out one of the containers of vegetable puree and dug around for a spoon. Then he tied a bib around Nadia's neck and began to feed her.

She pulled a face and turned her head away.

"Come on, sweetheart; it's good for you." Jack ate a spoonful to prove it to her. "Mmm, pumpkin . . . I think."

Arkady entered the waiting room and sat on one of the chairs near Jack. He looked as if he'd aged years in the hours since Jack had seen him.

"Elena is dead," Arkady said.

Despite what she had done to them, Jack was sorry she was dead; for Arkady's sake, and Irina's. She had still been family.

"The doctor said they did all they could." Arkady leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He shook his head. "I killed her."

"To protect Irina," Jack said. "You did the only thing you could do."

"I killed one daughter to protect the other. What kind of father does that make me?"

"Elena put you in that situation. You had no other choice."

Arkady looked at Nadia. "I remember when all my girls were that small. Lara and I . . . the plans we had for them." He closed his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Nadia, taking advantage of Jack's distraction, crawled off Jack's lap and headed for Arkady. She stopped at his feet, then looked up at him. When he didn't notice her, she tugged at his pants.

Arkady opened his eyes. For a while he just looked down at her, but when she raised her arms in a gesture to be lifted, he picked her up and sat her on his knee.

Jack smiled and held out the bottle of pumpkin puree. "I need to get some air. Maybe you can have better luck trying to get her to eat this."

Arkady hesitated, then reached for the food.


	38. Chapter 20b

Three hours later, Nadia was asleep in Jack's arms as he and Arkady sat in the waiting room. They were silent; Arkady in his grief, Jack in his worry. Jack studied his daughter; she had changed so much in the months that she had been gone. He was surprised she had taken to him so well; she couldn't possibly recognize him after having known him so briefly as an infant.

"Elena adored Irina," Arkady said, his voice harsh in the quiet room. "When Irina was born, Lena would have carried her around like a doll if we'd let her. She was always so protective of her; I don't understand what went wrong."

Jack couldn't look at Arkady. There was nothing he could say that could comfort his father-in-law in any way.

"Maybe it would have been different if I'd stayed." Arkady stood and crossed the room to look out the window. "I should have been able to prevent this."

Jack felt obliged to say something. "You can't think about what could have been. It won't change anything."

Arkady sighed heavily, then fell silent again. His back was to Jack, but the slump of his shoulders and the way he hung his head spoke volumes about his state of mind. A full ten minutes passed before he spoke again.

"Someone needs to tell Larisa."

Jack was about to reply when the door to the waiting room opened and Irina's surgeon entered. His face was carefully blank, and Jack felt bile rise in his throat as he anticipated the doctor's words.

_She's dead, I'm sorry, we did all we could_.

No, he thought.

He shook his head in denial, unable to voice the words. She couldn't be dead.

"She came through the surgery," the doctor said, and Jack could breathe again.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly. Irina heard the distant hum of voices; she knew she should recognize them, but she was too tired to think about it. Then there was the feeling of warmth and the weight of something on her chest.

Pain, sudden and sharp, and she moaned.

The voices stilled. She felt someone clasp her hand. "Irina?"

She forced her eyes open, and found herself looking up at her husband. She smiled at him, comforted by his presence. "Hi."

His fingers brushed her cheek, then he bent down and kissed her. "Welcome back," he said.

Irina was about to ask what he meant when she remembered the house, Nadia, wanting to escape. She tried to sit up but the pain returned and she fell back against the pillows, gasping. "Jack—"

"It's okay." He squeezed her hand. "You're safe. Nadia's safe."

"Sydney?"

He smiled reassuringly. "She's safe too. She's staying with Carmen."

There was more that Irina wanted to ask, but she was too exhausted. She blinked, struggling against sleep, and lost the battle.

Things were much clearer the next time Irina awoke. She remembered everything up until when she'd been shot. A solemn conversation with her father explained the rest. Irina wasn't sure what to think; despite everything, she hadn't wanted Elena dead. She pitied her father at being forced to choose between his daughters and for the first time since he had re-entered her life, she reached for him and took his hand. She was still holding it when Jack entered and stood at the foot of the bed.

"They won't let me bring Nadia in," he said unhappily. "I'm sorry; I know you want to see her."

"How long until I can leave?" Irina asked.

"A week, at the very least."

Irina glanced towards the window. "You should take Nadia back to the farm then. Sydney needs you."

"So do you."

"I'll join you as soon as I can."

"I am not leaving you here alone."

"She won't be alone," Arkady interrupted. "I'll be here."

Irina looked at her father. He seemed a little afraid, as if he was unsure of his place in her life. She couldn't blame him; until now she had been less than receptive to him. So she smiled and nodded before turning to Jack.

"It's okay, Jack. Papa will be here."

Arkady's grip on her hand tightened for an instant.

Irina could tell Jack was still not happy about this turn of events, but he pressed his lips together and gave a brief nod.

"I'll ask Franco to accompany you and Nadia," Arkady said. "Mario will stay behind with us."

"A week," Jack said, "or I'm coming back to get you myself."

Irina let go of Arkady's hand and held out her arms towards Jack. He bent down and hugged her gently. "I love you," she whispered, then gave him a light kiss.

"Love you, too." He straightened. "I'll see you soon."

To Arkady, he said, "Take care of her."


	39. Chapter 21a

_These three things remain: faith hope and love. And the greatest of these is love._ – 1 Corinthians 13:13

* * *

_September 1992  
__Tarragona, Spain_

Everyone liked the Costillos.

Their neighbour on the left, the widow Estela Gonzales who had little to do with her time but cook, saw them most frequently. Andres reminded her of her own son, Juan, she told them. A few months after the Costillos arrived in Tarragona, Estela took it upon herself to teach Renata the flamenco, shocked that she hadn't already learned it. Andres had encouraged his wife to learn, and hinted that he was looking forward to a private performance. (Over the following years Andres received many such private performances.)

Amado, a young student living three houses down, was somewhat terrified of Andres. This was, perhaps, related to his adoration of Andres' beautiful daughter Leticia. Poor Amado had no idea that Leticia returned his interest; poor Leticia frequently found herself blushing when her parents teased her about the budding romance.

Ten-year-old Esperanza was in the street playing football with the boys almost every afternoon. Resistant to every attempt to act like a girl, she preferred running around in shorts and a T-shirt, and defiantly insisted that she was going to play football professionally when she grew up. The previous year she had wanted to be a soldier, and the year before that she dreamed of becoming a pirate.

She had recently begun to share Leticia's James Bond obsession – the teen had developed a crush on Timothy Dalton after watching _A License To Kill_ – and one night Renata casually mentioned to Andres that an interest in espionage was possibly genetic.

Andres, understandably, was not too thrilled with this suggestion.

What the Costillos' neighbours did not know about the family was that Andres was not really a security consultant whose work took him out of town every few weeks, but a freelance agent working for his Russian father-in-law. Neither was the lovely Renata really the owner of an antique bookstore. Both husband and wife had been searching for and destroying Rambaldi manuscripts for the last nine years.

If Leticia had any idea of her parents' activities, she said nothing, but there were nights when she woke from dreams of a gunshot and a woman bleeding, of mixed up images that made no sense and people she hadn't seen in years. She could never sleep afterwards, and would sit in front of the mirror and trace her features on the cold glass, and whisper, "Sydney."

Esperanza had no memory of a life before this one; her sleep was untroubled.

* * *

Renata sat on the counter and sipped her coffee, her eyes on her husband as he walked around the kitchen wearing nothing but boxer shirts.

"Your daughters are going to be up soon," she said.

"Tish went jogging with Amado." A frown creased Andres' forehead as he popped two slices of bread into the toaster. "And Esperanza won't care. She sleeps late anyway."

"Suit yourself. I'm not complaining; I like the view from here."

He grinned at her. "Want some toast?"

"Sure, if you think you can manage not to set the kitchen on fire this time."

"That was once," he protested, "and not entirely my fault."

Renata set her mug down. "Come here, _apuesto_."

Andres crossed the room. Renata opened her arms, pulling him against her. "Hmm," she said appreciatively. "Good morning."

He kissed her neck, each kiss lingering longer than the one before. Renata wrapped her legs around his waist, giving an encouraging moan when he slipped his hand through the gap in her dressing gown.

"You're naked under this," he said.

"So observant, and this early too."

He flicked his thumb over her nipple. Her head fell back and she arched into his touch. "Welcome home, _cariño_."

"I missed you."

"Good." She smiled, then slid her hand into his shorts. He bucked against her touch.

"Oh, God."

Andres and Renata froze, then Renata raised her head and smiled at their daughter over Andres' shoulder. "Good morning, Tish. Amado."

Amado was a bright shade of crimson. Leticia looked mortified. Renata felt the strange urge to start laughing.

"_Buenos dias, Señora Castillo_," Amado stammered, staring steadfastly down at the floor. "I should go. See you tomorrow, Leticia."

He made a quick exit, leaving Leticia staring open-mouthed at her parents. She shook her head. "I – you two – in the kitchen?" Her voice rose on the last word.

"We were just making toast," Renata began, but Leticia cut her off.

"In the kitchen! It's not like you don't have a bedroom. Esperanza could have walked in on you and she'd be scarred for life, just like I am!"

Renata hid her smile; Leticia did seem to have the worst tendency to find her parents in a compromising position.

"Sweetheart," Andres began, without turning around.

Leticia held up her hands. "I give up. You two are worse than teenagers, do you know that?"

"That's exactly what your father said when he stayed here last month," Andres said to Renata.

"And my sister the month before that," she replied.

"Maybe they have a point."

Leticia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Stop it, please! Next time _Abu_ or _Tia_ Katya come visit, I'll leave with them."

"You think life will be less traumatic with your aunt?" Renata smirked.

Leticia scowled.

"Your grandmother is coming next week," Andres said.

Leticia's expression brightened. "With _Abu_?"

Renata shook her head.

"I wish they'd follow your example and work things out," Leticia said.

"Life might be more traumatic for you if they do."

"Mom!" Disgust laced her tone. "Aren't they too old for, uh, that?"

Both Andres and Renata laughed.

Just then Esperanza walked in, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Morning," she mumbled, heading straight for the fridge.

Leticia faked a cough and looked pointedly at her parents. Renata sighed, then pushed Andres away and slipped off the counter, quickly fixing her robe. Andres pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down.

"I told you to put some clothes on," Renata whispered as she moved past him.

Leticia leaned against the doorframe. "Maybe now's a good time to talk about me going away to university," she said.

"You're not going anywhere—"

"Daddy, think how many more special moments I might accidentally interrupt." She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Andres fell silent.

"Can we go to the festival tonight?" Esperanza asked, crunching loudly on an apple.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Renata said. "And maybe."

"I can take you," Leticia said; a little too eagerly, Renata thought.

"Is Amado going to be there?"

Leticia blushed. "I don't know."

Andres was still stuck on the university topic. "Why would you want to go somewhere else? There's a perfectly good university right here. And you're only seventeen; there's plenty of time for these decisions later."

"Mama," Esperanza said, "_Tia_ Estela said she's making paella for lunch. Can I eat there?"

"Anyway, I don't care if he's there or not." Leticia poured herself a glass of juice and sat down.

"Besides," Andres continued, "it's cheaper to live at home while you study."

"And, Mama, have you seen my red shirt? I need it for the football game today."

Renata looked at her family, and smiled.


	40. Chapter 21b

"Be back by ten," Andres said.

"But, Dad—"

"Eleven," Renata said, then kissed her daughters' foreheads and ushered them towards the door. "Have a nice time."

"Renata," Andres began.

The door had barely swung shut behind Leticia and Esperanza when Renata pushed him against it and started kissing him. "The longer they're gone," she said between kisses, "the longer we have without the risk of being interrupted."

Andres smiled. His hands moved to Renata's waist and he unbuttoned the top of her jeans and slid the zipper down. "I like the way you think."

"Less talking," she said.

They stumbled to the bedroom, stopping every few feet to kiss and tease each other. Both were completely naked by the time they finally reached their destination. They fell onto the bed a tangle of arms and legs, whispering endearments.

His hand brushed the scar on her chest, a reminder of the night he'd almost lost her, and he stilled. He traced the mark with his thumb, then kissed it. "I love you," he said.

She said, "Show me."

He slid further down the bed, parted her thighs with his hands, and dipped his head between her legs. She sighed in pleasure, her hips bucking up to meet him, and she clutched the sheets, moaning as he began to tease her with his tongue.

Even now, after all these years, his touch never failed to set every nerve in her body alight. Still clutching the sheet with one hand, she let the other drift to his head and threaded her fingers through his hair as she tried to pull him closer, deeper.

"Please," she whimpered, "Jack – I can't – Jack – oh!"

And then she could think nothing. There was only the heat of Andres' mouth on her and she was on fire.

She lay still, panting for breath as she came down from the high. Andres kissed his way up her belly, through the valley between her breasts; his tongue dipped into the hollow at the base of her throat before his lips finally brushed against hers.

"Love you," she said, her voice huskier than normal.

He kissed her more thoroughly this time, catching her lower lip between his teeth. His hand drifted down to fondle her breast; she rubbed her leg against his in encouragement. Desire coloured his words as he said, "You like this?"

"Mmm." Her hand slid around him to cup his ass. His erection pressed into her thigh. Anticipation tingled in her belly and she could wait no longer. She rolled them both over so that Andres was on his back, then she swung her leg over him and straddled his hip. Then, deliberately slow, she lowered herself onto him, unable to keep from smiling at feeling him inside her. "Like this?" she teased.

He gripped her hips to keep her in place and said, "Lean forward."

She did so without asking why, and was pleasantly surprised when he caught her breast in his mouth and flicked his tongue over her nipple. He thrust his hips upwards. She placed her hands on either side of his head for balance, and tried to keep still for as long as she could.

She lasted less than a minute before she gave in and matched his thrusts.

He rolled them over so he was on top again. "Come with me," he said.

She resisted, holding out on release as long as possible. But eventually she wrapped her legs around him and let go of her control.

Andres buried his face in the crook of her neck, sucking harshly at her skin until he too let himself go.

They lay in each other's arms for a long time afterwards. Andres traced invisible circles on her back as he tenderly kissed the marks he had left on her.

Renata wasn't sure what made her ask, "Do you miss them?"

"Who?"

"Jack and Laura."

He was silent for a while. "Life was simpler then, wasn't it?"

She said nothing.

He propped himself up on an elbow. "But I wouldn't change what I have now for anything in the world."

Renata smiled. "It's worth it, isn't it? Everything that we went through to get here."

Andres nodded.

"_Te amo_."

"Forever and a day," he responded, and lowered his mouth to hers.

The End.

Author's Notes: It's hard to believe it's almost a year since I started working on this story. What was intended to be a brief exploration of what could have happened if Irina was told Jack had died on a mission turned into something slightly more lengthy. (53, 315 words!) Once the characters began talking, they just wouldn't shut up. Not that I'm complaining, of course.

Thanks must go to otahyoni, agutijayuppi and mravensblood for helping me with the Spanish and Italian translations, and to Nat for the awesome dustjacket. You guys are gems.

Thank you also to everyone who has been following this adventure. It's been fun!


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